


rejoice because you're trying your best

by baehj2915



Series: rejoice series [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Kimallura, Casual Sex, Depression, Drinking, Drug Dealing, Epistolary, Eventual Romance, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending, Inspired by Music, Multi, Past Child Abuse, Past Drug Addiction, background kashleth, background vaxilmore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2018-11-15 17:47:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 61,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11236068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baehj2915/pseuds/baehj2915
Summary: A little inspired bythis post-- apartment block vm modern auPike and Grog's apartment has a direct line of audio to apartment 304, where the music comes from.





	1. violin concerto in major bummer

**Author's Note:**

> i'm trying my hand at some fluffy pikelan, as a reprieve from the decidedly not fluffy pike and scanlan situation in the show. it's relatively slow, and as i get a little more into backstory i'll add applicable tags, but nothing from the major warnings categories. i'm really going to try to stick to mostly fluff. i even plan to resurrect some characters!
> 
>  
> 
> ~*~

“Apartment 304 is sad today,” Vex said about the stream of violin pouring across the small wooded lawn path that separated the Emon Towers 200 building from the Emon Towers 300 building. 

If Pike knew anything about classical music she would try to say it was like such-and-such composer, but she didn’t so all she could say was that it sounded tumultuous and sorrowful. And it had been going on for around a half hour now. 

At around the ten-minute mark, Vex and Vax came down from their apartment for a better listen. For whatever reason, Pike and Grog’s balcony in 202 was in a direct path of 304’s music. She and the twins opened a few early afternoon beers while they talked and listened. After a week of long twelve hour shifts in the back of the ambulance, Pike didn’t want to go anywhere or do anything. There was usually something relaxing about 304’s practice sessions, but today they were playing up a storm of melancholy. 

It wasn’t making her mood worse, but it wasn’t exactly distracting her either. 

Vax, sitting on the floor of the balcony with Trinket’s head in his lap, said, “He’s a musician. I don’t think his choices necessarily reflect his emotional state all the time.” 

That made sense, but Pike wasn’t so sure. She heard 304 play a lot more than other people in the complex. Or at least it seemed like she never stopped hearing 304. There was always music quietly streaming from 304, not always stuff they were performing. 304’s apartment only looked active in the afternoons and completely shut down in the mornings. She suspected they had late shift and night work, like her. It made a feasible kind of sense that a paramedic and a musician might run the same hours. 304’s music was hard to describe. Maybe she wasn’t familiar enough with hearing music being played live, but there was always a pop and presence to it that made it feel visceral. 

“We’re not sure 304 is a he,” Vex said. 

“Shawn told me he saw a guy going in there several times.”

In a dramatic, mocking voice, she said, “And _Shawn_ knows _everything_ about _everyone_.” 

“More than you, asshole.” Vax looked to Pike, even though Pike didn’t doubt Gilmore’s ability to find out the lowdown on 304, and added, “He’s part of the tenants’ association. And he’s very sociable.” 

Pike nodded happily. “He’s a very nice guy. And very handsome.” Vex laughed. 

Vax rolled his eyes, but smiled and continued to pet Trinket’s massive head. 

“Besides,” Vex said, motioning to the 300 building with her beer bottle, “can’t you tell real feeling when you hear it? This is truly, earnestly… some sad shit. I can tell. I’m very perceptive.” 

The new resident of 304 had moved in four months ago, to the immediate notice of everyone considering the sudden appearance regular music recitals. There was always a variety of styles, volumes, and even instruments. Piano and violin were the loudest and most regular. Pike figured no one complained to the landlord about it, except maybe once. One night, pretty late, there’d been a trombone, or a trumpet, playing possibly _When The Saints Come Marching In_ and it had never made a reappearance. Everything else though was very nice to listen to, even if Pike didn’t know music enough to find out what all 304 played. 

“Maybe they’re playing a request,” Vax said with a shrug. “Maybe the word has gotten around and they’re taking requests from the whole complex. You are a trendsetter, after all.”

Vex nodded judiciously. “That’s true; I am.” 

A few weeks ago, Vex and Grog decided they were going to slip a request under 304’s door after Grog said he was tired of hearing what he called elevator music all day. A half an hour later 304 responded with a violin rendition of _Eye of the Tiger_. 

Pike agreed with Vex, though. 304 sounded sad today. She had no idea who 304 was or what they might be like, but she really felt sure about how the sound carried through her balcony. The violin was crying its notes. The peace of the shady walkway between the buildings only enhanced the contrast of the stormy music. She kept waiting for something to break into the view of her balcony—an abrupt stop to the music, someone running out of 304 to cry or smoke, a sudden change in the weather to match the tone. 

“I’m just saying,” Vax added. “Musicians have to music. This is probably not the first time in the three, four months they’ve been here 304 has felt sad.” 

Maybe that was true. Maybe Pike was just tired after a hard week. She saw lots of people bleed that week. Someone had died in the van on Tuesday. Normally if she and her partner Kash couldn’t keep the atmosphere superficial, they at least tried to keep things fast-paced. But it was rare a patient actually died on the way to the hospital and neither of them recovered from the blow. Every drive after that felt long and tense. 

Maybe it was Pike that was sad. 

304’s practice time eventually came to an end, but all the pieces he played were a strong heartache that felt strange in the warm summer afternoon. Grog came back from the gym, but couldn’t stay long before he had to go to work. Grog had a similar nighttime schedule to Pike; he was a bouncer on the weekends and rented security for a transport service during the week. Since Grog was never around on Saturday nights, she usually tried to find company elsewhere. Usually Vex and Vax. However, Vex left for a date, a pretty normal Saturday night event, but then her last remaining buddy Vax left to spend time with Gilmore. 

She thought about calling Kash but their relationship was more _I got your back, buddy_ and less _Tell me everything, hon_. Kash probably wouldn’t even allow the buddy part, since when he said that he usually said it very sarcastically. Instead she sat down on the couch and watched a few hours of Cupcake Wars on Netflix, but it failed to alleviate the funk she was feeling. Pike didn’t like being alone. She wasn’t afraid of it, but alone time led to introspection and self-doubt. It made her wonder if she’d been too slow or not thinking clearly on Tuesday, and maybe if she’d been better that person would still be alive. 

Well, without anyone to distract her, she tried to focus on the cupcakes. 

She did not stop drinking however, which is definitely what led to her probably making a huge mistake. 

Pike wrote out a note to 304. 

It flowed very easily in the moment. It felt very cute and witty and friendly-- while she was writing it. It was only after she walked over to the 300 building and slipped it into the mail slot for apartment 304 that she realized that it was probably a super crazy thing to do, and was probably more drunk-sounding than she’d previously thought. As soon as the paper fell out of sight she ran her fingertips along the narrow slot to see if she could catch any edge and pull it back out. For a seconds she thought about calling the landlord and pretending she needed 304’s mailbox opened because she accidentally dropped something in it. But after a few seconds of looking around the 300 building lobby for a stray paper clip she could fish it back out with, one of the 300 tenants returned and looked at her strangely. 

She went back home to 202 and ate an entire bag of chips while she tried to watch Ghostbusters. 

Sunday morning, she briefly considered writing another note to apologize for the one she’d left the night before. She also imagined that could probably result in further notes being left, each apologizing or trying to amend the last, and that would be truly bad, so she didn’t. Pike thought about asking Vex’s advice, but Vex tended to give really good advice that forced Pike to do things she was trying to procrastinate doing. So she just waited. 

Pike checked the mailbox once and figured it would be weird to do it twice on a Sunday. 

When music wafted across the lawn between the 200 building and the 300 building later that afternoon, it wasn’t the intensely morose violin of Saturday, but it didn’t seem like some kind of message to her either. It was piano. It started with a drifting and delicate classical piece that Pike never could’ve named in a million years. Then something like very old blues—the easiest to hear. And 304’s recital time ended with something incomprehensible and jazz-hard to make out well across the distance of two rooms in two different buildings. 

By Tuesday, Pike was beginning to relax. 304 had to have read the note by then, but hadn’t responded. Music, peaceful and energetic, sad and happy, drifted from 304’s apartment like nothing had happened. So at least she had a clear game plan. Essentially, find out for sure what 304 looked like and then avoid them as much as humanly possible so they’d never find out it was her. 

Wednesday before she left for her shift, she checked the mailbox and inside was a folded piece of paper with _To thankful 202_ scrawled on it. When she brought everything back inside, she set it down on her nightstand hesitantly without reading, and then left for work. When she came back in the middle of the night, or morning, whatever you call after 3 AM, the note seemed to draw her attention from her trek around her room as she undressed, put things away, and put on her pajamas. 

She decided to just go to bed and read it in the morning. It was too late for anything but sleep.

Twenty minutes after that, she turned the light back on and read the fucking note.

> To thankful 202—
> 
> It took me a while to figure out what to say to you. That’s unusual for me. 
> 
> Thank you for your concern. Thank you even more for listening. I didn’t know my music reached the other building, so I’m feeling a little conflicted. I’m louder than I thought, but also, you like it, so I can’t be all bad. I’m sure I’m a pain in the ass to plenty of people, but I’ll keep going until the man shuts me down. Not everyone responds to music like you. What you said about knowing someone else is alive may be one of the best things anyone has ever said about hearing my music. If you’re thankful for that, I’m grateful. 
> 
> To answer your questions:  
>  • Playing sad music when I’m sad can go either way.  
>  • I’d be pretty insufferably conceited if I only listened to my music—and I’m already pretty bad.  
>  • Writing my own music definitely feels like slow, painful work. The result can be fun. Reciting other people’s music can be entertaining. It can be work. It can be transcendental. 
> 
> I know you weren’t asking, but it’s never too late to add music to your life, if you want to learn. I know lots of people who give freelance lessons. Just keep that in mind. 
> 
> I’ll have a lot better time in my apartment knowing at least a few people don’t want me evicted. 
> 
> Thank you for your questions as well. Maybe we’ll talk face to face one day.

304 signed off with just a few scribbled music notes, no name, no offer to have a neighbor to neighbor friendship. The handwriting was a little messy. It didn’t look obviously male or obviously female, which Pike always thought was a weird thing that existed, but she still sorted handwriting through that too. So there were no new clues about them.

She hadn’t thought what to expect back. Maybe just a simple _Thanks_ and nothing else. Maybe a request to never write them ever again. And scanning through 304’s words, it was hard to remember entirely what she wrote. She hadn’t been totally wasted, but she had been slow-drinking for a few hours. Had it been very embarrassing? Maybe not too much if 304 had responded so nicely. 

Pike did remember the part about how the music reminded her someone else was alive at the same time. It was particular to the spontaneous, live playing 304 did. One, because she’d never had that in a living arrangement—where just going about her private life, beautiful music would just appear. And two, because 304 was someone she didn’t know, just happening into her life accidentally. Having an uncontrolled, unsolicited connection to something beautiful run in and out of the mundane part of her life was invigorating and exciting. It reminded her in a small way of the best parts of her job. Life entering the world, seeing relief on people’s faces. 

It was like breathing with someone at the same time. 

The whole feeling was hard to articulate and words were not Pike’s strong suit. She was just happy she hadn’t actually made an ass out of herself. 

She went to sleep and went on with her life, keeping an ear out for whatever spare melodies she could make out from across the lawn. 

Except for a few days later when she pulled a notebook out next to her during breakfast and started writing, _Hi again, 304_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~*~
> 
>  
> 
> up next is a scanlan pov. hope you enjoy it so far. i'm jabletown.tumblr.com if you're interested in being annoyed by my tumblr.


	2. the robots aren't the only thing to defeat me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little inspired by [this post](http://jabletown.tumblr.com/post/161435039963/shorthalt-shorthalt-critical-role-au-where)\-- apartment block vm modern au
> 
> Scanlan never actually admitted to being sad. It seemed to be the jumping off point anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyo, stupidly uploading this right before the stream, but anyway
> 
> there are some potentially triggery discussion topics introduced now, and a few more next chapter. and since they're major aspects of scanlan and pike's background, it won't be going away. i don't plan to get very graphic about it either, but they are discussed/alluded to. i added the tags, but to reiterate, look out for: drug use, addiction, physical and mental health conditions related to poverty, teenage pregnancy (resulting in Kaylie). as we go on more in scanlan's background will probably include mentions sex, spef. unprotected sex and serial one night stands. because scanlan is actually five trigger warnings in a trenchcoat. 
> 
> and next chapter i'm specifically going to mention more about pike's neglectful and criminal parents. 
> 
> wow what a fluff. hope you enjoy! 
> 
>  
> 
> ~*~

Scanlan woke up Monday morning—afternoon to the sound of Kaylie’s ringtone. Somewhere in the back of his head was his younger self, his inner teenage asshole, balked at the idea of letting a song by The Flaming Lips become shorthand for Kaylie’s ringtone, but there was a reason why that kid was gone and Scanlan the dadlan remained. 

“Hey, sweetie,” he said, trying not to sound like he’d been serving drinks until two in the morning and then getting very subpar night food from an all-night Taco Barn with his favorite bouncer from the club. 

“You sound like you died.” 

“I love you too. I just went to bed—“ Scanlan leaned over a very large pillow to scan the clock—“oh, seven hours ago. It felt a few minutes ago.”

“Well, you’re pretty old.” 

As far as Scanlan understood Kaylie, most of his problems were due to his advanced age or general incompetence in matters unrelated to musicianship. Kaylie still, at least, thought he was pretty okay as a music tutor. 

“Speaking of your imminent punishment, are you skipping class right now? You’re too young to skip class. It’s almost noon.” 

“Dad, it’s June.” 

“I knew that. I thought you had summer school.”

“Da-ad.” 

“I thought you were taking manners and etiquette classes at the School Every Day School for Terrible Children, miss sassmouth.” 

Kaylie laughed, but said, “Mom says you can’t complain about any things I inherited from you.” 

“Ooh boy, did I get nailed on that one. Well… she’s right about that. So what are you up to today, my darling dear?” 

As much shit as Kaylie gave him, almost entirely deserved, she would call for no reason pretty frequently. He suspected that wouldn’t last for much longer. In a few short months she would be thirteen, an official teenager. And right near the same time incidentally, he would be thirty, an official old to an official teenager. For now he took every second of every reasonless, unobligated chat she would give. After Kaylie decided she needed to do other things, and after reluctantly promising to practice her violin for at least an hour since she was not in fact in school for the summer, Scanlan decided to embrace the day. Well, he’d rather have embraced the other side of his bed and stayed for the next twelve to eighteen years. But that was impractical. 

There wasn’t much in the fridge. He’d been letting it go for a while, but he had salsa, eggs, and an avocado. Huevos rancheros it wasn’t, but pretty good for his own low cooking standards. He did a few more routine things before he figured he’d try to write up a few pieces for ads. After an hour of trying to write ad pieces that were terrible, or sufficient for ad pieces which essentially meant terrible, he went to check his mail so he could avoid the sins he’d entered into his music journal. 

For once there was something interesting in the mail that hadn’t come from The Pleasure Chest. There was a handwritten note on a piece of scratch paper with a local veterinary’s office logo on the bottom. Scanlan recognized it because he was pretty sure he did the music for their commercial. 

The note read:

> Hi 304! 
> 
> I hope you’re doing okay, because the music was very sad today. Not that you can’t play whatever kind of music you want. I’m sure you want to express your artistic talents as diversely as possible. I do enjoy listening to everything you play, it was just noticeably very sad today. The kind of sad it feels like you need to experience to play it, maybe. 
> 
> I don’t know. I don’t know much about music. 
> 
> If you’re sad, does playing sad music make you feel better or worse? Do you listen to other people’s music? I feel like if I could make music, it would be like nonstop entertainment for myself. But also it’s your job, I guess, so maybe not. Is it fun to make your own music?
> 
> I had a rough week at work, which can be really rough in the back of an ambulance, so maybe I’m reading too much into it. I thought if you were really sad, you might like to know that people listen. Me and my friends listen to you play a lot. I’m a paramedic and I work the 3-3 nights when I do twelves. So I hear you play on my days off after I sleep off my shift. Sometimes I wake up to hearing you play. I thought when you moved in I would get annoyed eventually, but I never have. It’s very soothing to hear you in a way that listening to the radio never has been. Going to a concert too has a different feeling. It’s like a mix between a surprise and getting to know a stranger. Because I didn’t expect to hear you and I can’t know what you’re going to do. It’s like knowing someone else is alive, maybe, and feeling a connection that can’t be forced or directed. I don’t really know how to describe it, but it feels reassuring. 
> 
> ~~I thought it would be important to~~
> 
> Thank you for the music. You’re very talented and I’m very thankful to hear your work. Please have a good time in your apartment. 
> 
> Love, 202

Other than a sort of fuzzy, giddy feeling of approval at being complimented, Scanlan didn’t know exactly what to do with this information. Someone liked hearing him. Someone and their friends. Objectively he knew he had some talent. He could even gauge his talent against other music he heard and know when he was better. He’d performed and even made decent money off performing in the past. But it had been a while since he felt the music flow, not the kind of flow he had before his relapse. It had been over a year since he’d done a public gig. Hearing a stranger liked listening to him play was… nice.

Scanlan wondered if this was the same person with the jock rock requests a few weeks back. 

He sat down on the floor by his piano bench and looked back and forth between the note and his music journal. 

He picked up his phone and called his mom for no reason, like his daughter before him. 

“Juni speaking.”

“Hi Mama.”

“How are you doing today, my little songbird?” 

“I’m fine,” he said automatically before the mental visage of his therapist popped in his mind to judge him. Honesty was such a bitch. “I feel a little weird, I guess. I need to buy groceries.” 

“Do you need any money?”

Making money wasn’t a problem, at least currently. It was much easier bartending and doing a few other odd jobs than needing to spend so much time going from gig to gig for less than half the pay. Working a job where tips were expected was a godsend. He was making a ludicrous amount in tips at the club where he worked. Apparently his all-purpose charm was still alive and mixed very well with blitzed white collar twentysomethings. His problem now was since his relapse and life post-rehab he’d been finding it hard to turn on the charm for anything other than work. 

He was finding it foreign and difficult to talk to people these days. 

Also, he regularly paid some of her bills, so even if he did she’d be needing it in a few weeks anyway. 

“No, no. I’m good. I need…” _I don’t like talking to people anymore and it was the one thing I could always do._ He took a deep breath. “I was just thinking maybe you wanna go with me? You can get everything you need too. And I’ll buy.” 

“Oh, well sure. You don’t need to buy my groceries, but I’ll go with you.” 

“Okay.” He’d just take of it at check out, but there was no point in arguing with her now. “Can you go later tonight?” 

“Yeah, sure. Was that all you wanted, baby?” 

She didn’t need to _say_ the other things; they were there in subtext. _Are you losing it again? Are you thinking of using? Do you have needles hidden in your apartment?_ He wanted to remove all fear from her mind, but that’s not how life with a recovering addict works. He asked those questions of himself from time to time. How could he possibly blame his mother for thinking them when he'd only been walking into inpatient nine months ago? 

And of course he didn’t want to talk to her about groceries. It was just the only thing at the moment that was half tangible. He didn’t want to talk about anything—not about feelings. At the same time he didn’t want to hang up the phone. He didn’t want to return to his music journal, filled with mediocre compositions on one side and empty pages on the other. 

“Tell me what’s wrong, little bird.”

“Nothing! Just… I got a note from another tenant here. Said they liked hearing me practice.” 

“That’s sweet. You’re always a good performer.” 

Scanlan paused for a moment and looked at the note. After a long silence he said, “They’re concerned I’m sad, I guess. I was playing some somber pieces. I didn’t think other tenants might wonder I was signing a suicide note. They’re a paramedic, though… I don’t know what that means. Are paramedics more or less insightful about sadness?” 

“What did you play?” 

“Uh, Albinoni Adagio in G minor, Hebrew Melody. Aase’s Death. Tchaikovsky’s violin concerto.” 

“Well, shit, baby. That’s a depressing fucking set list.”

“I guess. Not all of it. I could’ve played the theme from Schindler’s List. The Isle of the Dead, maybe.”

“If only.” 

“I’m just saying I can think of sadder. I don’t think it necessarily reflects on my sadness.”

“Did it make you feel better?” 

“The note?”

“No, playing. Did it make you feel better?” 

“I didn’t actually admit to being sad, you know.” 

“My little songbird,” she said with a small sigh. 

He _hated_ that. Growing up, Scanlan had watched his mother struggle every day to find the money for anything and everything, struggle to keep jobs when she had no one else to take care of Scanlan after school or in the summer, struggle to find a new apartment whenever the rent was raised, struggle to get his deadbeat father’s help every once in a while. Everything was stressful for her. He grew up overhearing her cry over groceries, not getting enough work, never getting to spend time with him, school expenses, having to sell another instrument, unpayable bills. Everything seemed designed to hurt her. 

And from the time he was old enough to understand money, Scanlan had planned on helping her as much as he could. He vowed that he would do everything in his power to make her life easier. But when it came to _himself_ , he couldn’t protect her any better than he could stop himself from making the mistakes he'd already made. He _hated_ disappointing her, but he was a disappointment. 

He couldn’t stand that little defeated sigh coming from her. 

“I never know what to say when people want to know how I feel,” he tried. “I wasn’t sadder than I am any other day, but I know what that sounds like. Playing something usually makes me feel better, I guess. Making something good would make me feel better, but I haven’t made anything good in… I’m not trying to be difficult, Ma.” 

“I know that. I know. I just want you to tell me if you’re hurting.” 

It wasn’t that simple. It felt like something that should be extremely simple but had never been in his life. 

“I will, Mama. I’m fine. I’m just adjusting still.” 

“I understand.” 

Scanlan doubted it. He didn’t understand. This was the second time in his life he’d come out of rehab and he was more uncertain about his life and himself than ever. 

The first time he went to rehab he was nineteen. He’d been performing in clubs and semi-employed in bands since he was fifteen, sixteen, and started in a touring band after dropping out of the Ellington Musical Academy when he was eighteen. Casual access to pot and pills was constant and he had not abstained. It was hard to stop partying when you spent every night in a bar or a club. About the time Sybil got a hold of his mother to inform them there was an eighteen-month-old baby girl in the world that Scanlan was responsible for, he was desperately trying to take the edge off with heroin.

A few months after that, Juniper, at her wit’s end, screamed at him how much he was like his father. How Kaylie would wind up having a childhood like he had. Two days after that, Scanlan volunteered himself into inpatient rehabilitation. He started to recover, started to enter the world of adulthood and reliability and parenthood. It took a long time, but it happened. He started working and living for his daughter, his mother, and Sybil, as much as he could. 

And that had been that. 

He’d thought. 

Then there was a car accident that resulted in surgeries, a broken leg, physical therapy, lost work, falling behind on some debt, and an introduction to oxycodone. 

Spoiler alert: addiction doesn’t really die. For Scanlan, it just got sleepy while he switched his musical focus from making his name to making money for Kaylie, Juniper, and Sybil. The addiction had just been waiting around for a while, looking for the best mood enhancer. Scanlan had thought his biggest weakness was never saying no. Apparently opioids were a pretty big one too. And apparently Scanlan on opioids was a lot more confrontational and a lot less shy of manipulating people he normally tried not to manipulate. 

The worst part, Scanlan realized, about trying pretty hard to ruin your life and lives of people who love you for a second time is not seeing them get angry with you. It was watching them look not all that surprised. It was watching them look like the other shoe had always been about to drop. It made him want to restructure his life and change. It also made him want to do a lot more Oxycontin. 

He did the second one first. 

Now he was here. Six months out of rehab, trying to keep afloat, trying to resume something resembling a normal functioning life, trying to stay a daily presence in his daughter’s life, trying to convince Sybil she might be able to trust him again one day, trying to keep himself from disappointing his mother again. Trying. 

“I love you,” he said. He had to say that whenever he felt it now. Who knew if or when he’d wind up in rehab a third time. “Thank you.” 

“I love you too, baby.”

“See you later for shopping?” 

“I’ll text you when I get home.” 

Scanlan put the note down on the music rack on his piano and left it there. 

Over the next few days he was forced to look at it every time he sat down to play. He made sure to play things that weren’t only sad. Apparently he was so sad that even strangers could tell from the way he held his goddamn bow. On Wednesday he wrote something back, wavering between polite distance and honestly. He knew if he looked at it longer than it took to write it he’d destroy it, so he put it in the mailbox for apartment 202 and left quickly so he’d never think about it again. 

And he did go back to whatever his new life routine was post rehab. That mostly consisted of choking down a few bars of music to sell for commercials, talking to his mother and daughter every day, talking to Sybil at intervals he suspected that would make her amenable to hating him less, and trying to come up with good reasons to tell Dr. D he was unable to play in the band or teach any lessons for the foreseeable future. 

He affixed his best and fakest smile to his face and went back to bartending for the weekend. On Saturday night he had his favorite weekend ritual—taking a shot at the end of the night with his favorite bouncer, a stupidly tall piece of beefcake named Grog. They’d shoot the shit for a while, maybe go and get some late night food. He’d marvel over how much Scanlan pulled in for tips. Fuck up and recovering addict and increasing recluse he may be, no one could say Scanlan couldn’t pull out the charm when needed. 

But Monday morning—afternoon there was another note waiting for him.

> Hi again, 304. 
> 
> Thanks for getting back to me. I don’t think anyone would want you evicted unless you go back to the trombone. 
> 
> I kind of want to apologize for the first note I sent. I was a little rambly, and a little maudlin. And a little drunk. I don’t think I would have sent you anything if I hadn’t been a little drunk, though, so it probably wasn’t all bad. I’m glad I said something good. I’d be much worse off if I didn’t hear your music coming through the balcony anymore. 
> 
> I thought about sending you a request, but I know that’s kind of presumptuous. If it’s shitty to do that, I’m sorry. I know you’re not performing, technically, so it feels rude to ask for anything from you. But you said in your note that playing music could be transcendental. 
> 
> Would you play something like that? 
> 
> Don’t tell me what it is, or when, if you do it. I want to know it when I hear it. And even if I don’t, you’ll get to feel something transcendental instead of sad. 
> 
> Love, 202 
> 
> P.S.- I wanted to find something cool to bribe you with something cool, but all I could find was this $5 someone drew a mohawk on.

Scanlan looked at the mohawk scribbled on Abe Lincoln with a pink highlighter and decided it was acceptable payment for something transcendental. He went back into his apartment and picked up his violin.

He played, and for the first time in a long time he didn’t think about it. He just felt it. It moved through his bow arm and around his skull. For a little while there, while played as close to the lawn-facing window as he could, it wasn’t mechanical or even intellectual—it was magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~*~ 
> 
> thanks for reading! and thanks everyone for the comments and kudos! 
> 
> i failed to do my music mentions for chapter one, so i'm going to link all of the referenced music so far here:  
> -[rejoice by ajj](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tzS1WFXICCE) (title name)  
> -selections from scanlan's sad violin [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ic9R9rGX9Vc), [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zuh3WyfVL2M), [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ATBwxG20Umc), [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AzlMeTxVdH8)  
> -yoshimi battles the pink robots (kaylie's ringtone) 
> 
> i'm leaving whatever transcendental music scanlan played up to interpretation bc frankly i don't want to deliberate between about 30 pieces of moving music that other people might not find as mindset deyfing
> 
> <3


	3. thank you, friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little inspired by [this post](http://jabletown.tumblr.com/post/161435039963/shorthalt-shorthalt-critical-role-au-where)\-- apartment block vm modern au
> 
> Pike is interrupted by family and friends; some good and some bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiya, just a head's up. the warnings for this chapter are all related to pike's neglectful parents, and a passing mention to grog's upbringing. that's where the child abuse tag comes from, and there is no graphic recollection, but it is there and will be mentioned again in later chapters. 
> 
> that's it, i think. hope you enjoy! let's all ignore episode 102 and the upcoming 103, shall we! 
> 
> ~*~

Pike stepped into the lobby entrance of the 200 apartment building at 3:42 A.M., exhausted down past her muscles and into her bones. Even for the dead of night, or pre-morning, she could never tell, it was a hot July night. Or day. Inside the lobby it was stuffy with recycled air and she almost wanted to walk right past the mailbox. 

Approaching the mailbox nervously, Pike fumbled with her keys. 

Earlier in the week, on Sunday, lively music had unsurprisingly flowed across the lawn from apartment 304. But for the first time ever piano and violin were playing simultaneously. It hadn’t lasted as long as 304’s normal set lists, but it was a duet. Someone was _dueting_ with 304. 

Sunday evening Pike asked about it, as casually as she could at the end of a note mostly about what frozen snacks she was eating in the heatwave. It was now Thursday, well Friday at 3:42 A.M., and nothing had come back from 304. That wasn’t so unusual, except there had also been no new live performances from 304 either. She’d heard a soft hint of familiar and unfamiliar bands coming out of speakers a few times. Before 304 moved in Pike had never thought much about sound, but she suddenly realized how different speakers sounded from the live performances of 304. It sounded like the difference between canned and fresh food tasted. 

And strangely, and a little embarrassingly, the absence of 304’s music made her feel ignored almost. Like she would if someone was not answering her calls or avoiding her. She wondered if 304 was now off gallivanting in someone else’s apartment, dueting with someone talented who knew music and was probably tall and fancy and didn’t come home at 3:42 A.M. feeling like gum that had been hammered into dirty pavement for over twelve hours. 

It was all stupid of course, but that didn’t stop her from being a little afraid that a note from 304 telling her to mind her own damn business was in the mailbox. Or that there was still nothing from 304 in there. She couldn’t tell which was worse. 

But when she opened the door, there was only a slim piece of notebook paper. She read it immediately.

> 202, 
> 
> Thanks for the idea. I like the chocolate mangos better than the watermelon. 
> 
> And this is as good as I can get as far as transition sentences are concerned, so here it goes: so did my daughter. 
> 
> You asked about that duet—that was me and her. She’s more likely to try harder when I accompany her. She likes the competition. 
> 
> I don’t know why it feels like I’ve been lying to you. We don’t, strictly speaking, know each other at all. Maybe it’s just because I’m used to lying, or just because it’s easier to be honest when I write to you. You’ve told me a lot about your work, how it makes you feel out of step and out of control. I was surprised by that, and grateful for the honesty. I like the way you casually sign off with “love” to every message. I like that I can’t ever predict what you’re going to say. And when my mother called earlier and asked me what I was doing I said I was talking to a friend.
> 
> So I owe it to you to be honest and actually tell you things about me. 
> 
> Not to be grandiose about it. Not everything, I mean we all have boundaries and I don’t want to make you feel weird. I’ve done a lot of things that would make people feel weird if I told them about it out of the blue. I hope I’m your friend, but if you don’t think of me as a friend, that’s okay. I’m not super familiar with close friendships, but I think of you as someone I’d want to tell my secrets to. No one other than I’ve been reliably informed that friends give each other parts of their lives. Which you have, and now I’m doing. 
> 
> You should know, I would normally scrap anything this much of a train wreck. But I had a really influential therapy session yesterday about honesty and uncensoring myself. I’m trying to _put myself out there_ , emotionally. 
> 
> Shit, well, I understand if you want to avoid conversing with me now since I actually used the phrase _putting myself out there_ , which is disgusting. But to recap:
> 
> 1) I’m not sure if this is how adults usually make friends, but I’d like to try.  
>  2) Therapy is clearly giving me a slow-acting aphasia.  
>  3) I have a daughter. She’s 12. She’s unbelievably awesome; way cooler than I’ve ever been. And I live in fear of the day she realizes that and stops talking to me. 
> 
> There’s that, I guess. I hope you’re having a good week.
> 
> Yours in a sufficiently fitting sign off,  
>  A friend in 304  
> 

Well. None of that had been what she was expecting.

Pike went upstairs in a ultra-tired haze, and added the new letter to the others she had absentmindedly collected in the drawer of her bedside table. Including this, there were eight notes from 304. None of them had mentioned anything about kids or whatever relationships they might have or had that would result in a child.

Pike didn’t feel lied to, though; she wasn’t sure about the mix of feelings inside her at all. A kind of relief had sunk in when she knew 304 wasn’t playing with a tall, put together musical stranger. That was ridiculous, though, and she knew it. The notes she exchanged with 304 weren’t romantic or relationshippy in the slightest. 304 could _duet_ with anyone they liked and she had nothing to say about it. And it was even more ridiculous because it was just music. On top of that, Pike didn’t even really think she wanted to get romantic with 304. She certainly had no plans for it. 

And she was glad to call 304 a friend, it’s just… that note was a little heavy. 304 didn’t sound confident, which made her realize that until now they always had. 

She closed the drawer and got ready for bed. She was just tired. She’d had a very, very long day. She would just have to think about it in the morning. 

Except the next morning she was woken by Grog knocking on her door. Softly for Grog, but still alarming. Pike felt gross from not taking a shower or brushing her teeth last night, but she’d just been too tired. She threw on pajama shorts and the closest non-work shirt from the floor. 

Behind the door, Grog immediately looked sheepish. And it occurred to her that polite knocking was not usually part of Grog’s routine when Pike was asleep. He either played some kind of really loud prank or saved whatever was the problem until she woke up on her own. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Er, I don’t know. Wilhand’s here. He wants to talk to you.” 

Filled with confusion and a building sense of worry, Pike grabbed her phone. She hadn’t missed any calls and it was only half past eight. The alert and fatigued feeling she had during the second half of her shifts started to slip into place on her way to the living room. 

Papa Wilhand, sometimes Pop pop, was technically her great uncle, but he had basically raised her. Her own grandfather had moved far away from the family before she was born and then died of a heart attack when she was five. A few years after that both of her parents were arrested together during a drug bust, and then Wilhand took her in. He’d been in his fifties then. Now at 78 he was in pretty good shape, but she still worried about him when he did something suddenly out of his routine. 

Pike felt an immediate surge of guilt that she hadn’t called him in over a week. 

Pike hugged him where he stood by the couch. “Pop pop, what’s wrong? Is everything okay?” 

He patted her shoulder and smiled, but it was tight, uncomfortable. “I’m just fine, pumpkin. I just… oh dear, you probably just got off your shift not long ago, didn’t you?” 

“Oh, no it’s fine.”

“I’m sorry, Pike, dear.” 

“Really, don’t worry about it.” 

“I would’ve called, but I thought I should tell you this in person.” 

Pike was very close to telling him to spit it out. Her stomach was somewhere near the bottom of her feet. Instead she glanced at Grog, who looked just as confused and worried, and said slowly, “Well, what is it? Are you okay?” 

He smiled tightly again. “Don’t be alarmed, but… I found out this morning that your mother is out of prison. I just thought you should know in case she tries to call you.” 

Pike felt both a huge wave of relief and a new tiny pinprick of annoyance building in her temple. “Oh, well, that’s… That’s not what I thought you were going to say.”

Wilhand looked a little dubious about that. 

“Really,” she added. “I’m glad you’re okay. You had me worried there for a minute.” She didn’t add he could have said that over the phone, because it was rude, but she thought it would’ve done a lot for her state of mind. “Why would she call? Did she call you?” 

He cleared his throat like he didn’t want to say, but he shook his head no. “One of your cousins told me.” 

That wasn’t a surprise. Pike hadn’t heard from her mother for the last four years. She’d called once from prison to talk around Christmas, but did not ask Pike to visit her upstate. 

She hadn’t spoken to her father since she decided to stop reaching out to them when she was 19. And even if she hadn’t, she would have cut ties with him when he was arrested after the explosion in their meth lab killed their next door neighbor. It was the same reason she had no intention of speaking to her mother, in case she called, which didn’t sound likely. Her mother had been less involved in the operation, supposedly, and had gotten a lighter sentence for giving more information on their suppliers. 

At the same time, the idea of her mother calling, hearing her voice and anything she might have to say for herself filled Pike with dread. 

“You don’t need to worry about me, Papa Wilhand. Even if she calls, I’ve got nothing to say to her.” 

That was a lie. There were so many things she _wanted_ to say; she just knew saying them wouldn’t have any kind of impact she hoped for. Pike tried for a policy of not thinking about them as much as possible. It worked frequently, but it couldn’t be expected to work all the time. In her sad little fantasies about it, she still sometimes imagined airing her grievances and telling them how much she didn’t need them and still seeing her mother’s tearful apology for being such a distant and terrible mother. She still sometimes imagined her mother trying to make up for the lost years, staying sober and staying out of trouble.

Reality was pretty different, though. Pike can count on both hands the number of times she’d talked to her parents after they gave her up to Papa Wilhand. Running a meth lab and a lifelong addiction apparently took a lot of time away from raising a kid. 

“I doubt she’ll try to find me,” Pike added, not feeling as distant from her parents at the moment as she normally was. 

Wilhand and Grog made the same sort of face. Grog frowned and Wilhand smiled, but they were still trying to hide how sorry they felt for her. She could tell. 

Wilhand stayed for a little while longer. She made him coffee while they skirted around the news. She tried to make him take food with him and promised to visit in a day or two. Before he left he made sure to tell her she had always been a good and responsible girl. He was still smiling like he felt sorry for her. 

Pike just gave him a hug before he left and tried to ignore it. 

“I didn’t want to swear while Wilhand was here,” Grog said, “but I’ll fuck her up if she bothers you and you don’t want her to, Pike.” 

“I know, and thank you for saying it. But I really don’t think it will be an issue. She’s never been eager to come see me before.” 

Grog frowned, now plotting over a bowl of cereal. He slid one in front of her too. “Your dad’s not out soon, is he?” 

She shook her head. 

Grog looked a little uneasy for a second. “Do you… wanna talk about it?”

Pike almost laughed. “I don’t know. I really don’t. I don’t know what to feel about her getting out. I don’t know what to feel about her. If they were gonna get out of my life I just wish they’d stay gone, but they never do.” 

She sighed and felt bad. There was nothing Grog could do. Her parents had never hurt her the way Grog’s family had done to him. She genuinely barely remembered anything about them. Wilhand had been her family since she was seven. The last twenty years had been peaceful and good, with only a few interruptions from her parents, and occasionally Grog’s family. And Grog certainly didn’t like to talk about his family. Though he had seemed to master a zen kind of approach to cutting them off. They were bad; they were gone; they were in the past. No more. Pike envied that a little bit. Her family was like a specter lurking in the back of her head. 

She was just about to tell him to not mind her, when Grog’s fist slammed the table. 

“Fuck this,” he said, holding his spoon like a knife. “We’re gonna go get ice cream.” 

This time Pike did laugh. “It’s only 9 a.m.” 

“So. Let’s go to a movie too. Before I go to work. We’ll go see a movie and get ice cream and donuts for lunch.” 

Pike laughed. She didn’t know how to put into words how grateful she was for Grog. Her own family may have been a disaster, save for Wilhand of course, but Grog was more than enough to make up for it. 

“Yeah!” she yelled, slamming her fist on the table too. 

“Yeaahhh, buddy! Race you,” he said, beginning to shovel spoonfuls of Froot Loops in his mouth. 

The rest of the day with Grog was probably the best day she’d had in weeks. They ate a ton of junk food at the theater and had ice cream for lunch, even though they were both a bit too full of sugar by then. But Pike and Grog never welched out on any plan that included booze or ice cream. They didn’t really do a lot, but the whole day felt hectic with fun. 

It was only after Grog left for the club and she was alone again that she went back wondering about things. She hadn’t heard from Vex or Vax in a while. It was so quiet it felt like the apartment block had been emptied out. 

Pike got out the note from 304, grabbed a notebook and a beer, and sat on her balcony to say something back. She opened an app on her phone just to hear some music, even if it wasn’t the kind she wanted. Without a plan, she started to write.

> Dear 304,
> 
> I am absolutely your friend. This may not be a common way to become friends, but I wouldn’t do it any other way. 
> 
> Well, I might if I’d seen you in person first, but this is good. You don’t have to feel like you need to tell me every little secret you have, but I will never turn one away. 
> 
> And any friend’s daughter is also a friend of mine. I can’t wait to hear all about her.
> 
> In the interest of friendship, I need to tell you what a great idea having ice cream for lunch is.  
> 

She went on about how great her day with Grog was, how much she had needed that. She wrote about what music she was listening to now—she’d never paid much attention to music before 304. A song from her phone sang _keep on loving, keep on fighting_ and something they had said once about how all music and words could flow through you without thought echoed in her head as she wrote. She began to tell them about how her day had started and her family too.

This time, without any trepidation, she ended her letter with her cell phone number. 

The next morning, Grog continued to be the best person ever by inviting Vax and Vex over for brunch. Brunch was just bacon and waffles that Pike wound up helping to make, but it was still pretty great. 

Sitting on the balcony, almost finished with her waffles, watching Vex and Vax fight over the maple syrup, she got a text.

_r u awake? -304_

Pike looked around to see if anyone noticed, which was silly because there was no reason they’d know who the text was from. There was really no reason to keep it a secret. Except that she had and really didn’t like the idea of telling anyone she was secret penpals with someone who lived basically next door to her. 

_yeah. why?_ she texted back underneath the balcony table. 

_listen_

Within a few seconds the strains of piano started to fill the air, becoming clearer and clearer exactly what it was with each second. Pike almost drew blood she was biting her lip so hard. 

“Heyyy,” Vax said brightly. “Look who’s back!” 

Vex’s face screwed up a little in a laugh. “The Golden Girls theme song?” 

She sent a _Thank you._ and a heart from under the table before her laugh broke. Vax started singing along, and then she and Vex did, but Pike wound up laughing too hard to finish. She was probably a little too pleased by the idea that this song was being played specifically for her and no one knew. 

When it was over, 304 texted back with three little purple colored heart emojis. And she kept annoying Kash later on by humming the chorus under her breath all night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~*~
> 
> thanks for reading and thanks to everyone who has given me very lovely comments and words of encouragement! it's made writing this such a joy. i really appreciate you all committing to a multichapter fic as i update it. <3 
> 
> songs of note for this chapter:  
> edit: kaylie and scanlan's piano/violin duets-- [spiegel im spiegel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z8ZScAdV8qE), cover of [river flows in you by yiruma](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z-1NIdv7CsM), and [aeris's theme from final fantasy 7](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LI7Wcl5y5Qs)  
> [your heart is a muscle the size of your fist](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pC3IrqUpm9U) (what pike listens to when she's writing)  
> [thank you for being a friend](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=05MzvO6V2qs)


	4. what you lost, and what you had, and what you get

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little inspired by [this post](http://jabletown.tumblr.com/post/161435039963/shorthalt-shorthalt-critical-role-au-where)\-- apartment block vm modern au
> 
> Scanlan's ups nowadays are kind of low, but not as much as the lows are up; or, Scanlan has a day of emotional bitchslaps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so frinking tired rn but i really want to just spit this out so i can move on to pike tomorrow. this was a little longer than intended and i think each chapter is getting successively longer lol. 
> 
> general scanlan warnings apply--talk of sex, drugs, rehab, and the suicidal/self-destructive aspects of addiction. but also hey, scanlan plays guitar in this chapter! 
> 
>  
> 
> ~*~

Four guitars rested against the living room wall, all in cases, all mocking him. 

There were also two violins, one viola, two ukuleles, a handful of non-concert woodwinds including a hundred-year-old panpipe, a clarinet, an oboe, two sets of bongos, five harmonicas. In the dining area, there was a piano, a theremin, three miniature portable keyboards that mostly just hung from pegs on the wall like paintings, and a key-tar. This recent round of opioid addiction had seen relatively few instruments pawned for cash, so he was pretty flush with things to play at his whim. And Scanlan by no means played every single instrument he owned with regularity. 

So the fact that his guitars in particular were mocking him didn’t make any sense. There was something sad and insidious about the thin grayish layer of dust on the edges of each case. 

He hadn’t even been in this apartment for six months. 

Maybe what was worse was knowing how dormant they’d stayed even before the move, before rehab. They’d been at his mom’s place for a while; maybe she’d cracked one out for a sing-a-long some night Kaylie had slept over. Kaylie knew three chords pretty reliably. Juniper wasn’t big on instruments like he was, but she was a more gifted chanteuse and knew her way around a guitar. It’s how Scanlan learned, after all. Maybe even Sybil stayed and watched. He thought a lot about the things Kaylie or Sybil or his mother did while he was in inpatient. Or the long driftless days going from party to party getting high. 

His therapist talked a lot about playing versus performance, about what Scanlan created that was for himself and for other people, and why it was important to know the difference. Somewhere in the dark, muddled center of him, that he didn’t like to go near or think on, all these things bent into and across each other. He didn’t know exactly how, but he felt them touching. He liked to think of it as the dumpster he’d thrown all his fears and anxiety in over the years—thinking he was actually disposing of them instead of giving them a place to grow and ferment and choke out everything else. 

Somehow looking at the dusty guitars tied it all together. When he looked at the untouched guitars, his main performance instrument, he was two feet away from them but he felt absence. Not from the guitar, _from him_. 

With a sigh, Scanlan picked up his pocket notebook and wrote down the phrase, “the three mile island of his heart/soul.” Not that he was looking to write any pathetic ballad about depression or addiction. But just in case. 

Right above that entry was “don’t say you should, ask when you will,” which was the trite catchphrase version of a longer, more valuable thing his therapist had said. He had a shit memory at the best of times and most ideas that got cranked through his brain wound up coming out the other side as reductive quips, greasy one-liners, and trite catchphrases. But it was a vague direction towards something constructive. So he kept it. 

That’s where his trouble was at the moment. A vague direction towards something constructive was either trying to get over this sudden hurdle in performing, or writing something back to 202. 

They texted now. Just a few short things like hey look at this picture of a red panda from him, or recaps of baking competition shows from them. But the letters were still more and he didn’t want that to stop. 

Except it was his turn. 

In their last letter, 202 had replied to his openness, which had been a reply to their openness, with even more openness and a mention of a history as a child growing up with two addict drug dealing parents and now Scanlan was losing his shit. Partly he knew it was _just like him_ \--anyone he’d ever had a significant relationship with could tell you, Sybil just about never stopped telling him—to get halfway in the door of committing something and then backpedal out because he got overwhelmed. He liked 202; they were someone for whatever reason it was extremely easy to be honest with. But it wasn’t just the sharing, which, yes, made him feel like rabbit being eyed down by a hungry eagle. 202’s parents, one of whom just got out of prison and causing them all kinds of agita, were dirtbag addicts. How was he going to respond to that?

Oh guess what, 202? Me and your parents that have fundamentally betrayed your trust and fucked around with you your whole life have a lot in common. Also, you’re a paramedic, right? Wanna hook me up with some oxy? Just kidding. I’ve totally thought about it, but really, jk. 

That seemed just about as desirable as gouging his own eyes out. 

So he kept staring at his guitars. 

“Fuck me,” he said, grabbing one of his concert acoustics. 

It was a beautiful guitar. Pale tan on the body with a dark almost purple-brown inlay and neck. He spent an hour or so tuning, restringing, and generally dicking around. Then he changed out for his much less nice nylon string acoustic covered in stickers and tuned that instead. He didn’t want to potentially worst case scenario—smash it, drop it, get hit by a car, explode in a freak lightning accident, cry on—a good guitar. He thought about calling his mother to see if she could show up for whatever he was about to do, but decided that sounded too sad. He flipped a coin for busking or The Sun Tree. 

The Sun Tree won. 

He put on a beanie and a loose Henley over his tank top. It was probably too hot for it, but he wanted to feel more protected. Also the hippie camouflage would help. 

“Fucking fuck me,” he said, putting the guitar back in its soft body case and throwing the strap around his chest and shoulder. 

The Sun Tree was a coffee shop-slash-used bookstore-slash-amateur performance venue. Anyone could step up on the stage at The Sun Tree after writing their name on a sign-up sheet. Scanlan had only lived in this part of town for a few months, but throughout his life he generally zeroed in on whatever performance spaces he could use. He had gone there, but never played. Technically, playing for free on a sign-up space in the middle of the day at a coffee shop was several dozen levels below his level. It was, technically, kind of embarrassing for a touring musician. Kind of embarrassing for anyone who didn’t want to hear shitty covers of white boys doing _Redemption Song_ and overwrought, more boring renditions of acoustic top 40 all day long. 

Well, he supposed you were only a touring musician if you toured. And you were only a performer if you performed. So everyone who sang an Adele song that was clearly out of their emotional and tonal depth had one up on him. 

So he went to The Sun Tree. 

There were only a handful of people there, which was both a delight and a disappointment for reasons Scanlan wanted to spend no time examining. There were definitely less than twenty, including staff and people he supposed were there to play as well. He ordered a cold brew from the cute-but-in-a-very-granola-way ginger barista wearing a deadhead tank top. The moment he added his name to the play roster she cooed and said, “What are you gonna play?” 

Trying not to touch the large guitar strapped across his body, he said, “Tuba.” 

“No, I mean—wait. Do you? Nobody’s ever played a tuba here before.” She started looking around behind him on the floor, which was easy as she was probably nearing six feet and Scanlan stopped somewhere around in permanent need of a stepstool. She was wearing a chalkboard badge that said Kiki! with hearts on top of the ‘i’s. Gleaning that there was no tuba, she added, “I mean genre-wise. What songs? I love knowing all the different music people choose. It’s really fascinating.” 

Scanlan reached over to drag his cold brew closer. “I’m going to cultivate a mysterious allure and leave you in suspense,” he said, walking away from the confused barista because he had absolutely no clue what he was going to play. 

He sat through four sets, one of whom, a college aged girl with a buzz cut, who was actually decent. Like, he’d consider signing her. But the rest were mostly what was expected. Part of his brain was operating on the standard, _so naturally you’re better than everyone else_ waveform, but there was also a niggling _what if you embarrass yourself by being too bad for an audience more interested in buying used books?_ There were a few moments coming up on when he was about to play that he almost walked out, but he remembered something 202 had said once about music having a lightening effect on the soul. 

He wanted to feel that way again. 

He also didn’t want to feel mocked by dusty guitar cases. 

So he winnowed down his choices of songs he wouldn’t need to prep for, and when the ginger barista said his name, he stepped on a stage for the first time in over a year. People looked back at him; some didn’t look at all. When he toured with Dr. Dranzel some venues they played had crowds of a few thousand people. Here, there was no spot light or sound equipment more complicated than a single mic or anything riding on his success. This was worse. 

There was a long moment when he was sitting on a bar stool that had almost been too tall for him, holding his guitar, and he couldn’t get his fingers to move. 

But then he did. 

He wasn’t paralyzed. He didn’t have to pull himself off the floor. He didn’t suddenly want to run out and do a hit. 

He thought of the song he wanted to play, chords and a map of notes rolled into his mind, and his fingers responded. Even with his shitty, old nylon acoustic, the warm feeling guitar sound vibrated against his chest and stomach. And when he opened his mouth to sing, his voice only wavered very slightly for a half a second. His body had done this so many times before, it knew the way. Restarting was only actually a minor hardship even after all these months of worry. 

The first song— _Run Honey Run_ , a simple starter he didn’t need to stretch any talent for— was okay. Next, he did _Dreams_ , because even as much as he dissed standard acoustic cover fare, he fucking loved Stevie Nicks. Also something about _Dreams_ resonated with him, even if he was coming at the lyrics from the opposite side, as it were. He thought about doing _Tea Song_ , but he was veering far more folky than normal and it was weird. He also didn’t fancy doing a depressing slow song that was the equivalent of yelling “hey everybody I’m a heroin addict” in front of strangers. 

Grasping for something in the opposite direction, the first thing that came to his mind was an arrangement for _Africa_ he’d done literal years ago. 

Halfway through Toto, he finally felt good enough to look up. There had been some clapping after _Dreams_ , but he was still too inside himself to pay attention. People were pretty into it, as far as getting down in a coffee shop could go. He managed to get a good look at faces and nearly stopped—definitely hit a wrong note—when he saw Sybil and Kaylie at the back of the table seating. 

He pushed himself back into the lyrics and used the chorus to look again. Kaylie was grinning brightly, and waved when he caught her eye. Sybil looked neutral, but he couldn’t really look at her face for longer than a second. Not while he was trying to do this. 

He made a bee line for them when he was done. Kaylie jumped up to intercept him, nearly bowling him over with a hug. 

“Hey,” he said, a little confused. They couldn’t have possibly known he was playing. “Do you come here a lot? Or do you just have the best timing in the world?” 

Sybil rolled her eyes. “We were walkin’ by. Saw you. Kaylie wanted to hear you play.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she said, talking the strap from around his shoulder and setting the case by their table. 

“I only decided to do it a few hours ago.” 

Apparently they’d been there long enough to get drinks and some kind of croissant thing too. He hadn’t even noticed them come in. 

Kaylie sat back down and then looked at him impatiently when he wasn’t already setting on the opposite side. He looked toward Sybil to check, because it was the chair next to her that Kaylie wanted him to sit in, and she only shrugged. He couldn’t say that little performance had pushed him towards euphoria, but it had been a little rush. Now he was starting to feel the end of it—enhanced by having to sit next to Sybil’s veil of neutrality. 

He knew beneath the calm she put on for the sake of Kaylie, she still probably wanted to deck him a few hundred more times. Scanlan had done a lot of shitty things during his relapse, and Sybil had borne the brunt of it. It was the major subtext of every interaction they had since Scanlan had got out of rehab.

Mostly he just tried to stay out of her way. 

Thankfully, Kaylie was in a chatty mood that day. She told him how they’d gone to a museum that day, what music she was practicing, what she thought about certain pieces she was made to practice, and how stupid her friend’s friend was being to her friend. It was only awkward when Kaylie ran off to the restroom. 

Scanlan looked at her a few times, trying to smile at her. She only responded with a raised eyebrow of detachment. 

He cleared his throat. “So, how are you? Everything good?” 

“Just fine.” 

“You, uh, need anything? Any money?” 

Sybil frowned. “You paid me this month already.”

“I know. I just… If you need anything, anything else, let me know. Any money, any extra days where you want to me to take Kaylie. Just let me know.” 

She huffed a gruff laugh. Kaylie took after her like that—not prone to laughter, tough to crack. It had, in retrospect, been the reason why Scanlan had pursued Sybil when they were teenagers. Getting her to laugh was a hard bar to hurdle. Unlike most other girls he’d been with, he’d had to chase Sybil, he’d had to earn her attention. At the time it had been a fun challenge. Eventually he had gotten her to crack, gotten her to laugh, gotten her to smile at him for no reason at all. Then, possibly because that was all he ever wanted, he moved on. 

And in retrospect it was hard to understand how he’d been blind to the part where he broke her heart. 

“Do you really want to talk about redoing a schedule for Kaylie right now?” 

“No. I do soon, though. I’d like to see her more.” 

“I’d like for that too, but you…” She paused to sigh. The sternness in her eyes broke for a second and she looked unbearably sad. “I honestly don’t know where you’re at right now, Scanlan.” 

He swallowed hard. Whatever stage high he’d caught from the performance was well and truly doused now. “What does that mean? I’ve been… It’s been more than six months since I left rehab. I go to therapy. I go to NA. I have regular income. I’m clean.” 

Whispering low, like she was doing him a favor, Sybil said “We agreed we’d talk about letting Kaylie stay with you regularly when I thought you could be trusted. I believe you when you say you’re clean, but it was rough this time around, Scanlan. She’s old enough to know about drugs. She’s old enough to know you could’ve died. And I won’t have my daughter finding your dead body.” 

He wanted so badly to say that he wouldn’t relapse, that he would promise, but that was nothing he could promise. He could only again and again say he didn’t intend to, which meant approximately nothing. “I’m clean,” he said through gritted teeth, needing something to say. 

“I said I believe you, but that’s not even what I’m talking about.” 

It took a second, but it eventually hit him. “Oh. You think I might kill myself.” 

“Scanlan,” she said in an urgent whisper, “that’s exactly what you told Juniper you’d do if I took Kaylie away from you. And you may have forgotten, but we certainly haven’t, at one point you were missing for three days. Your mother was sick with worry and your daughter cried her eyes out. I don’t want either of them going through that again. I want you to keep seeing Kaylie, but you agreed to let me decide when she could come stay with you again. I want you to get better, but I’m not sure you’re better yet.” 

There was a long silence. Scanlan couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Everything she said was true, concerns he would have in her shoes. If he was in her place, he’s not sure he’d be even half as forgiving. 

Sybil was about to say more, but Kaylie came back from the bathroom. Scanlan tried to fake a smile, but that usually required at least a little mental recuperation time. 

Kaylie frowned at them. “Were you fighting?” 

Scanlan smiled for real this time, and reached across the table to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear and touch her cheek. “No. We were just talking.” 

“You look sad.” 

“Adults talk about sad stuff a lot. It’s fine.” 

She looked at them like she knew they were bullshit, but through her benevolence would allow it to pass. 

They talked for a little while longer. Scanlan paid rapt attention to the hot summer gossip Kaylie wanted to dish about her friends simply because he really didn’t want her to have any inkling what he and Sybil had been talking about. It was hard to think that she might actually know more about his addiction and recovery than _Dad is sick and needs therapy again_. He might actually have to talk to her about it one day, though clearly it wasn’t the time. 

When they were leaving, Scanlan slid his hand over Sybil’s. “About earlier,” he said, “I understand. You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do.” 

Sybil pulled her hand away, but nodded. “Call later. You should come visit before the weekend. Make sure she’s actually learning.” 

“I will.” 

By the time Scanlan got home it was not even 7 PM. It felt like he’d been awake and stretched out over a week’s worth of time. For effectively having just gone to a coffee shop and played a few songs, that was a fucking super intense day. 

He crashed on his bed with a list of innumerable wants. He wanted to somehow obliterate his past. He wanted Sybil to trust him again. He wanted to be a better person. He wanted a drink. He wanted to get high really fucking badly. He wanted to fuck. He wanted someone who would fuck him and immediately forget his name. He wanted someone to spoon him. He wanted someone to talk to. 

He looked through his phone for a minute at some reliable booty call numbers, but figured that would only reinforce the path Sybil, and hey maybe everyone else who was important to him, thought he was going down. 

For a second, he thought about just calling 202. Just to hear their voice for a second. But he didn’t. He texted, because he was even more unprepared than before to actually respond to their letter. He typed out five or six things that he deleted before he sent, _on the off chance ur home will you tell me about the cupcake show?_

A few seconds later his phone buzzed and he nearly cried with joy. 

_?  
which one_

He smiled. _any. had a pretty tough day._ He added, _i only want the world to be cupcakes for a few minutes._

202 sent a frowny face, but then proceeded to tell him in inane detail about fabricated dilemmas, wacky flavor combinations, and last minute challenges that make baking cupcakes apparently television-worthy drama. After a while they started talking about other things on and off for the rest of the night. Before bed he was alarmed to realize they’d been texting for literal hours. All in all, it was probably a better decision to cope than shooting up or fucking a stranger, though, so it was probably a win. 

In the morning there was a box of cupcakes in the lobby. They had purple, pink, and blue frosting, glittery sprinkles, and toothpick tags saying they were unicorn flavored. The note taped to the box was brief:

> 304—
> 
> It’s the least I can do in return for all the music. I can’t do anything about the other stuff, but I can help you feel like cupcakes for a little longer.  
> 

Scanlan still had stupid ad pieces to write, an uncomfortable disappointment with his own music, a lot to make up for with the women in his life, and, well, a whole myriad of personal problems. But he had to admit, the fucking cupcakes cheered him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~*~
> 
>  
> 
> thanks for reading and all your amazing comments. and hey, next chapter you actually have some fun stuff to look forward to! no spoilers, but there's a night out on the town with vex and vax! i promise this fluff will actually be fun at some point. tyvm <3
> 
> fuck i forgot the music again. scanlan's acoustic covers set list: 
> 
> -[run honey run](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zLf-jLIbQ2g) by john martyn  
> -[dreams](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mrZRURcb1cM) by fleetwood mac  
> -[africa](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MLrC7e3vSv8) by toto  
> -i also think i should link up [tea song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nlQsX35lH_k), which he didn't play but is definitely on scanlan's mind and wouldn't perform in such a country/jangly way


	5. if you want me let me know bc baby you never show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little inspired by [this post](http://jabletown.tumblr.com/post/161435039963/shorthalt-shorthalt-critical-role-au-where)\-- apartment block vm modern au
> 
> Pike meets Scanlan; 304 remains a mystery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow these chapters keep getting progressively longer. 
> 
> there aren't any new substantive trigger warnings in this chapter except for casual drinking with friends. there still needs to be serious discussions but they. don't. happen. in. this. chapter. guys, there's finally a fun chapter. there's a relative amount of fun being had. you guys, i feel so proud of myself. 
> 
>  
> 
> ~*~

Ten minutes after they arrived at the second bar of the night, Percy showed up. About twenty minutes after that a fifth wheel sensation started to creep in. 

Originally, earlier that afternoon, Pike, Vex, and Vax decided to go barhopping that night, later to meet up with Grog at the end of his shift. Which was great. Pike’s week had been… not fun. She’d pulled a double in a different van for her friend Dana. There’d been lots of car crashes this week and she’d seen two deaths at arrival, in addition to one stressful arrival where a kid had been trapped his car seat until the door was able to be sawed. The whole week Grog had been just leaving as she was arriving, or vice versa. She missed calls with Papa Wilhand and Vex. And the one time she actually tried to hang out with Kash he’d been with his girlfriend. Pike hadn’t even known he was dating someone. It wasn’t super surprising he hadn’t told her, Kash being who he is, but it only made her feel a bit more disconnected. 

Later when Vax showed up to the apartment with Gilmore, their trio morphed into a couple plus two extra. Which was fine. It was totally fine. The fact that it brought the thing with Kash into sharper relief was just a side effect of her week being so draining. Pike was determined to not let that affect her for their long awaited night out. And she succeeded pretty well, made easier by the fact Vax and Gilmore weren’t the clingiest of couples and the flowing drinks. 

Then Vex announced she’d texted Percy to come along. Which was also fine. 

And then he showed up, and Vex stood closer to him while they started chatting about their weeks. And Vax and Gilmore started to talk about some plans they had later in the month. And she knew it was stupid. She knew it wasn’t intentional. She just couldn’t help feeling like something was drifting away from her. Vax and Gilmore were completely involved in each other’s eyes, Vex moving into Percy’s personal space like she owned it, and Pike just felt and tired and alone. And very short and unfashionable compared to everyone else—and Grog wasn’t even there to distract her. She felt stuck on a buoy while everyone else was sailing away. 

She chided herself for thinking so melodramatically and got another drink. 

Another drink and a half after that of sporadic inclusion in the conversation and wondering silently if she should just start talking about how she’d seen a wheel spoke sticking out of a bicyclists’ leg this week just to un-romanticize the atmosphere, a recognizable song came over the bar’s stereo system. It was _Psycho Killer_ , which she’d heard before probably countless times, but now she was remembering a violin version 304 had played. 304’s deconstructed version layered over the real song strangely in her mind. She’d sent him a text about it and he’d spent the next five hours texting her about growing up listening to The Talking Heads, punk influences, funk influences, and sending her links that ranged from, in his words, “mediocre to sublime” instrumental adaptations. 

304’s version of _Psycho Killer_ was a lot more experimental sounding, and, for lack of a better word, orchestral than the original. 

“The violin version is weirder,” Pike said aloud. She reiterated something from 304’s long diatribe, not really knowing why felt like she wanted to sound smart about something other than grotesque injuries. “But not as fun as the original because The Talking Heads were originally more of a funk and disco influenced dance band. Which was unusual for the New York punk scene.” 

Everyone stopped talking to look at her, which was a bit more than she wanted. 

Gilmore had a bemused, lop-sided grin on his face. “Are you a big fan of old school punk?” 

With more drunken confidence than she felt, Pike tried to nod in what she felt was a knowledgeable and sophisticated way. 

“What violin version?” Percy said. “Is there a cover you’re thinking of?” 

Except that was actually about the limit of her knowledge here. She hummed awkwardly and looked through her phone to find real things to say. “304 played it. He sent me… There’s a link somewhere here.” 

When she looked up, everyone was stopped to look at her even more than a moment ago. Vex looked predatory with a bright excitement in her eyes. 

“He? You’re texting 304?” 

“Uhh.” She looked down. Her phone was lying flat on the table they were sitting around. “No?” 

Vex grinned even more. “It says 304 right on top of the text thread I can see right now.” 

“Umm.” 

“So 304, huh?” Vex leaned across the table, obviously trying to look at Pike’s phone. “How long have you been talking to him? Why didn’t you tell us you’d met? How did you meet?” 

Pike immediately regretted saying anything. She didn’t want to explain anything about her relationship with 304. Keeping 304 to herself had felt satisfying in a way she couldn’t describe. And she hadn’t realized until that moment when people were looking at her for answers about the mysterious musician that no one apparently knew. It felt suddenly like someone was staring into her bedroom window. 

“Well, I don’t actually know if they’re a man. I’ve never met him, them. I just kind of… suspect.” 

Vex frowned. “How’d you start texting them if you’d never met?” 

“I, uh, left a note in their mailbox one day. About how much I liked the music. He responded. We, uh, started talking.” 

“Oh,” Percy said, pointing toward Vex. “You’ve told me about this. The man in your complex who plays classical music all day.” 

“All kinds of music,” Pike said and finished the dregs of her drink. 

Vex looked at her in curious concern. Vax was smiling the way people did when they thought she did something particularly cute—as a short blonde she got it a lot. She didn’t particularly approve of it in this circumstance. 

“I’m pretty sure I’ve met the guy in 304,” Gilmore said. “He’s quite the—“

“No!” Pike spat. Ignoring everyone’s looks again, she cleared her throat. “I just… I don’t know what he looks like. I’m not sure I want to meet him yet.”

Pike could easily find out what he looks like at this point. She’d started figuring he was a guy after telling her about his daughter. Maybe it was unfair on her part, but she just assumed that since he wasn’t the primary caretaker, he was probably a father, not a mother. Some of the things he said had a more _dude_ tone to them. Not a solid lead, really, but still. They had made a friendship that so far was pretty soft and comforting. He played music for her and she sent him thanks and cupcakes. She didn’t want it ruined by, she didn’t really know, talking though, probably. 

Vex looked at her very coyly. “Pike. What have you two been texting each other?” 

“Nothing.” She heard the defensiveness in her own voice so she sat a little lower and shrugged. “Music stuff mostly.” 

Music, baking shows, family, being tired, being sad, the news, cat videos, and a few terrible exes. They talked about a lot, especially since they started texting. Pike wasn’t going to tell Vex that. It was mostly music anyway. The letters at least. 

“And you have no juicy details to tell us?” Gilmore said with a winky grin. 

“Oh yes! Gossip!” Vex said. Vax rolled his eyes. 

Pike had to stop herself from saying _well he has a daughter and an ex-wife, possibly, but I can’t really pin down his age or what he might look like or anything else about him if he is a him and I’m desperate to know more but it would be impolite to ask_. She was used to gossiping with Vex, but those weren’t things she wanted to tell. If she could’ve rewound to the beginning of the conversation and said nothing she would have. She went to take a drink from her glass, but it was already empty. 

“Not really, no. Nope.” 

Vex had a particular way of looking at people like she could discover their secrets with only her eyes. She was doing that to Pike right then. 

“Pickle doesn’t have to tell you anything. Especially not about anyone else,” Vax said. “Anyway you already know where he lives. Finding out anything _from_ him shouldn’t be hard.” 

Pike felt her heart spike for just a second. She couldn’t explain why but the thought of Vex and Vax showing up at 304’s door for some kind of interrogation made her want to die. “Please don’t do that.”

“I’m just curious about this person you’ve been carrying on a secret relationship with, Pike.” Vex said, trying and failing to sound innocent. 

“It’s not secret, I just… You don’t tell me about _every_ person you talk to, do you?” After Vex silently agreed, Pike felt a little better. “Anyway, I think 304 is a little shy. No one else seems to know him. And, you know, he’s an artist.” 

Gilmore coughed a little, sipping his drink, and then smiled at Pike. “Artists are… peculiar. In their ways.” 

Pike was glad when the conversation moved away from 304 without her having to dive under the table. 

They went to two other bars. One of them was divey and fun; the other was divey and sad so they left right away. Gilmore had to leave because he needed to be in his shop early the next morning, so Vax left with him. Pike tried not to feel like now she was just a third wheel. Vex might have noticed because she walked out of the fun dive bar with her arm through Pike’s. The plan after barhopping was to head over to The Cloudtop, the pricy club that Grog worked at as a bouncer. From what she understood, it was a popular spot for young rich people who worked in finance, or didn’t work at all. Grog called them douchebags, and they probably were, but he didn’t like that he had to wear a suit. It was probably way too ritzy for them; the only way Pike even felt comfortable going was because Grog would just let them in right before the last call. 

It was after two when they got there and quite a few people were leaving. Even though there was no line the other bouncer, who wasn’t as tall as Grog but nearly as big, gave them the stinkeye when they arrived. 

Grog grinned secretly to them, and then elbowed the other guy gruffly. “These are my friends. We’ll get a drink and they’re leaving with me.” 

With a shrug from the other guy, they got in. Pike was a little surprised it wasn’t the decadent or obscene nonstop party she had sort of imagined it would be. There weren’t that many people left, and the ones who were lined the bar or little dark alcoves with large couches blocked by velvet stanchions. The dancefloor was totally empty now. And it was very dark, lit only by hidden bluish-white lights coming from half-covered molding on the floor and walls and weird geometric mirrors plastered on one side of the building near the dancefloor. 

They headed to the bar where there were slightly more people, and at least five bartenders Pike could see. All the bartenders too, were wearing semiformal suits, or at least dark dressy pants or waistcoats or ties. Pike ordered a drink from a very handsome dark skinned man, who wore a long black tie and the sleeves on his nice button down shirt rolled up. He was very helpful with his drink recommendation and winked at her. 

Later when the music was turned off and some overhead lights started to rise, and even more people had left, Pike explained to the handsome bartender they were friends of Grog. 

He relaxed and smiled. It was really the first time Pike could hear him well enough and he had a very nice middle eastern accent. “You are friends with the big guy? I should’ve given you the good stuff.” 

Vex laughed. “I see, it’s based on nepotism.” 

“Absolutely. My name is Jarett, friends of Grog. Any friends of Grog are, well, getting discounts at least. That motherfucker will hurt me otherwise.” 

The bartenders continued to clean or take glasses away. Servers walked around bringing things behind the bar, and the other customers were escorted out. Eventually someone shouted “locked up” and Grog made his way back to them. 

He leaned next to the stool Pike was sitting on. “You guys didn’t pay too much for your drinks did you?” 

Jarett leaned away from a till and passed a bill their way. “I took care of them, big man.” 

Another tired looking male bartender walked around from the far side of the big island-shaped bar where Pike had seen him before. Unlike Jarett he was wearing a waistcoat, it was black with a sort of purple shimmer to it. He was carrying a shot glass in one hand and a tall bottle of something clear in the other. He was noticeably short, coming up shy of Grog even while Grog sat. He placed his things on the table near them and shouted, “Grog-a-mus Prime!” 

Grog broke into a big grin and moved all his attention. “Eyyy, Scanlaaaan! Shots! Sh—hey where’s yours?” 

“Ugh, big guy, I was buddy buddy with some yuppie assholes from a brokerage firm earlier. They bought me a shot every round. I shouldn’t.” 

“Scanlaaaan,” Grog chided. “Be a dude!” 

The short guy sighed with a grin, and found another shot glass, filling them both. “L’chaim.” 

Grog nodded, badly repeated what the other man said, and they did they’re shots. Grog made some burny sounds and cleared his throat. “You clean up tonight, you smooth talking motherfucker?” 

The man looked lethargic—Pike recognized the end of shift look very clearly—but grinned slyly. He pulled a _large_ wad of cash out of his pocket and tapped the side of Grog’s chin with it. Most of it was probably small bills, but Pike had really never seen a _wad_ of cash before. “You know it, beefcake.” Out of the fold, he pulled a pretty crisp $50 and slid it to Grog. “That’s for taking care of that douchebag earlier.” 

Grog giggled delightedly and put it in his jacket pocket without reservation. “You’re so good to me, boo.” 

Pike was a little amazed. She knew better than anyone just how playful Grog could get, even if he looked very intimidating, but she’d never seen all the pet names and cuteness before. She’d heard of Scanlan before, mostly in terms of wingmaning and trips to Taco Barn. She hadn’t suspected Grog was so… taken with him. 

“I’m sorry, are we interrupting this love affair?” Vex said. 

“Oh.” Grog’s head snapped up. “This is Scanlan, the coolest guy in this joint.” 

Scanlan flashed a saccharine smile with lots of teeth. “I’m like his work wife. And technically, Jarett is the coolest guy in here.” 

Jarett, who was still counting money by the register, shrugged off the compliment. “You’re too kind, my friend. I can’t really deny it, but still. It’s nice to hear.” 

“See?” Scanlan said, somewhat wistfully. 

“Scanlan,” Grog said, “these are my buddies. Except that guy over there, Percy. I don’t know him very well, but he’s fine, I guess.” 

Percy looked a little confused, but nodded awkwardly. 

“That’s Vex. She did my taxes last year. She’s really smart.” Vex preened at that, but shook Scanlan’s hand. “And this is my buddy Pike. We’ve been best buddies since, like, forever.” 

Pike smiled. “Since you were under six feet all, at least.” 

Grog laughed and high-fived her. 

Scanlan looked a little gobsmacked. “You’re his buddy Pike?” There were a lot of question marks in his voice. 

She nodded. 

“His flatmate and work out buddy Pike?” 

“Yeah. Is that strange?” Pike sat up straighter and tried to move in a way that would show off her hard won arm muscles she was very proud of. 

“No, no. I was just expecting someone a little more Grog-shaped, I suppose.” 

“I wasn’t expecting the Taco Barn guy to hand out allowances to his boo. I half-expected you to tell him to buy something pretty.” 

Scanlan smiled big again, this time genuinely, and there was a very tiny oh shit moment because even didn’t immediately strike her as very attractive, not like Jarett, but it was a _very_ nice smile. 

“That’s fair. Scanlan Levy, at your service.” 

He put out his hand and Pike shook it. There was definitely some kind of intent in his eyes when he said service. It made Pike nervous because she really wanted to disapprove of that but he also had very nice, dark eyes as well. And now that he was standing closer and the lights were brighter, she could notice a few things that also weren’t great. His hair, short on the back and sides, had clearly been kept down with product, but was now coming undone after hours of work. It wasn’t very long but she could still make out a few wild loose curls that she was somehow very sure suddenly would look really good without any product in his hair. 

It was way too many opinions to have about a stranger’s looks for comfort. 

“Ashley Pike. Everybody calls me Pike. It’s very nice to meet you.” 

“It can get a lot nicer than this, I promise you.” 

“You know I’ve always wondered, what do guys like you do when girls call bullshit on your lines?” 

“Fall in love?” He said, raising an eyebrow. There was now a gleeful, active look to his eyes that Pike sometimes saw on boxers at the gym. He pulled another shot glass from under the bar and served her a shot. “That’s on me.” 

Pike downed it and the burn was very slow but had an immediate effect on top of all the other booze she’d had that night. She coughed, “Oh, that’s definitely tequila.” 

Vex threw her hands out and gestured at the injustice. “What about us?”

Scanlan put the bottle under the bar. “Ooh, sorry. We’re closed for the night. We don’t serve drinks after close. It’s policy.” 

“I’ll remember that,” Vex said, to the delight of the bartender. 

Scanlan’s gaze settled on Pike again, she had a moment where she tried to prepare for trying to repartee with him again, but a female server or bartender came around the bend of the bar to deposit some papers by the till. She brushed past Scanlan, knocking into his shoulder, but also grazing a hand lightly down his arm. 

“If you’re done hitting on customers, Jaime and I wanted to know if you wanted to come over.” 

Her eyes went to a two guys talking across the room. Pike assumed one of them was Jaime. 

Scanlan’s eyebrows shot up. “You and Jaime. Want me to come over?”

“Yeah.”

“At,” Scanlan paused to look at his watch, “four in the morning by the time we get to… wherever. What could you possibly want to do at 4 AM?” 

The girl, who was kind of skinny and long-limbed with sleek hair and make-up that made her look intimidatingly fashionable, sighed with distaste. “You’re such an idiot.” 

Jarett paused and looked at Scanlan in disbelief. “Haven’t you already slept with both these people, man? What do you think?” The woman slapped him on the shoulder, but Jarett just shrugged. “What, it’s not a secret. We all know Alex saw you two fucking in the kitchen.” 

The woman groaned.

Realization vividly passed over Scanlan’s face, a beat before Pike and Grog’s, as Vex and Percy laughed. 

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, hmm.” Scanlan made some kind of inscrutable eyebrow conversation with Grog, who looked more excited at what was happening than Scanlan did, and then turned back to the sharp angled woman who was now glaring at Jarett. “Yeah, that’d be… a good, fun time. Yeah. Let’s do that.” 

She rolled her eyes a little, but started to smirk. “Be ready to leave in ten minutes,” she said and walked away. 

Once she was out of earshot, Scanlan groaned loudly. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I’m turning into such a tired old man I almost lost out on a threesome. Holy shit, I need to sleep better.” 

“After this, though, right?” Grog said. 

Vex looked almost angry. “How did you even pull that out of the fire? Grog said you were a smooth talker?” 

“Hey, I put in the leg work for that weeks ago. Just because you didn’t see me be totally charming, don’t assume I didn’t earn that. Also I’m tired. Anyway, it was wonderful meeting you all. You’re beautiful.” Scanlan clapped Grog on the shoulder. “I gotta go.”

“Yeah you do, buddy!” 

Scanlan darted off without a second glance. 

“I genuinely cannot believe what we just witnessed,” Percy said. 

“Is this… sleezy three-way central?” Vex asked, looking between Grog and Jarett. 

Jarett laughed. “Everyone here, with the exception of yours truly, is basically a useless floozy. Don’t mistake me; I have a healthy appetite. But these people are always sleeping with each other and customers and starting little dramas. That small man you just saw… easily made his way through half the staff the first month he worked here. Unbelievable.” 

“Hey,” Grog said, but didn’t follow up with anything, probably just trying to defend his friend on principle. 

Jarett put up surrender. “I hold no ill will against the man. I admire him a little. I mean he clearly has a technique that works. He’s not bad looking, sure, but you don’t look at him and think, yeah he obviously gets the most tail. But he does.” 

Pike sighed quietly to herself. She had definitely felt… something off of Scanlan, whatever his technique was. Maybe a mix of a kind of seedy allure and charm. And the big brown eyes. Those had been nice. At least she’d gotten a free shot out of it. 

Not long after, they all headed back home, even Percy. Pike eyed Vex, but she only talked about how it was too late to get a non-creepy uber driver anyway. Pike sent a secret text when she was sitting a foot away from Vex in Grog’s SUV, _tell me every thing tom!!!_ Pike checked the mailbox in the lobby, but there was nothing from 304. It seemed like now that they were texting, the letters had slowed considerably. She kind of missed them. 304 was kind of a talker, and texting cramped their style. 

Pike went back to work in the week not exactly refreshed, but not as tense as she had been the week before. Vex assured Pike that nothing happened with Percy. 304 texted her a picture of a cat climbing a tree in a park somewhere. Grog got her favorite cereal from the grocery store and she didn’t even ask. 

Not much else happened until Wednesday. It was another day off and she got a call from Kash asking if she wanted to get coffee. It was very unusual. Kash never asked her to do anything. She scrambled at the chance to see what civilian socializing with Kash was like—which was apparently him taking her to The Sun Tree and awkwardly introducing his new girlfriend who worked there. 

Kash’s girlfriend was a tall, pretty redhead named Kiki. As soon as Pike introduced herself, Kiki told her how much she’d heard about Pike, how much Kash liked her as a partner, how she and Kash met, about her master’s program in botany, and a few other things that sort of whizzed by Pike. Kiki had a big smile, tie-dyed shorts, and a general aura of cheerfulness that stood in total opposition to everything Pike knew about Kash. 

When they sat down, Pike smiled at Kash. 

“Stop that.” 

“I like your new girlfriend a lot, Kash. She’s really sweet. I approve” 

Kash frowned, but not in an angry way, just in a Kash way. “I don’t need your approval, but I thought you two would get along.” 

“I think she’ll be a good influence on you.” 

Kash sighed. “Ugh. Don’t do that.” 

Pike laughed as Kiki brought them their drinks and sat down in the free chair next to Kash. “You guys are just in time for the good guy.” 

“What guy?” 

Kiki pointed up at the stage, and a short man with curly hair sticking out under a knit hat was walking up on stage, lifting the guitar case from off his shoulder. “This guy. He’s really good. He’s, like, the best guitar player we’ve had in here the whole time I’ve been working here.”

As he unzipped his case, and tucked a pick from behind his ear, and situated the mic, and pulled the guitar in his lap, Pike felt the sinking-soaring feeling of seeing someone she recognized and finding out a secret on them. Well, kind of a secret. But Kash spoke for her instead. 

“Hey, I recognize that guy.” 

Pike did a double take at Kash, squinting across the room at what was definitely Pike’s erstwhile flirting guy and Grog’s work wife, Scanlan. 

“No, I know that guy,” she said. 

Kiki looked wide-eyed. “You guys both know Skimlam? Scalmal? Scan-ler? Whatever. I don’t, I don’t know his name. He signs up a few days a week and I can’t read his handwriting.” 

“How do you know that guy?” Kash asked suspiciously. 

He started strumming, randomly and then sliding into a tune. Pike instinctively cut herself off. The melody solidified as something really familiar, but she couldn’t place it. 

“He’s, uh, he works at the bar with Grog.” 

“Huh.” 

“How do you know him?” 

Kash shrugged. “I don’t know him. I recognize him from Burt and the Reynolds. A local band from years back. They played a lot at the bar I worked at in college. He was vocals and lead guitar.” 

Pike looked back and forth in a daze between Kash and the stage. Scanlan was good. Whatever Jarett was talking about in regards to his technique, this had to be part of it. Pike could imagine a sharp, unimpressed woman like that other bartender at The Cloudtop being secretly weak for a guitar guy who could actually sing… whatever cover he was singing that was on the tip of Pike’s mind that was driving her crazy. 

_”--Borderline, feels like I'm going to lose my mind. You just keep on pushing my love, over the borderline.”_

“Did you like them—Madonna!” Pike almost shouted when she realized what Scanlan was singing. It didn’t feel like a big win because she didn’t get it until he actual sang the song title, but still. “It’s Madonna. _Borderline_.” Pike resumed whispering, “But I mean, you remember him pretty well. Were they good?”

Kash sort of shrugged with his mouth, like it wasn’t even important enough for his shoulders. “They were alright. I only remember them so well because they had at stupid name and handed out fake mustaches people left all over the place that I had to clean up. Also, that guy, I don’t know how old he was but he looked about twelve at the time. He tried multiple times to buy from me with a really bad fake ID.” 

Pike couldn’t stop the laugh from peeling from her lips. She stayed mostly silent for the rest of his play list. Since listening to 304, she’d grown pretty entranced by live music, even though she didn’t get to hear it often. There was just something about the sound of live music that was so much cleaner than otherwise. It had a way of surrounding her. Scanlan didn’t announce any of his songs or engage in any kind of banter with crowd, which either grew in size or grew in concentration during his time on the stage. It seemed very unlike the man she’d met at the club on Saturday night. 

The second song he played, _Ain’t No Sunshine_ , was easy enough to remember. His other hand tapped on the body of his guitar to the rhythm of the familiar beat. His singing voice dropped a little from _Borderline_ , and while he had a good voice, it didn’t seem like the best match. Maybe it was just because she was too familiar the that song, though. Pike felt like she had learned things about music since she started talking to 304, but she wasn’t sure. 

The third song he played, though, was a better fit. Pike thought he seemed a lot more emotional during it. There were edges to his voice that dug into certain words. Even though she didn’t know this one, it came off a lot more vibrant. Each strum of the guitar was more intense than soulful. Every lyric sounded close to the moment right before you start crying. It wasn’t a happy song, but he made it lift up over the room. 

There was a refrain of the song, repeating, _”I don’t want to die in here,”_ that struck her body, almost with force. She felt it inside her, and she knew instantly that “here” was not a place. 

It was beautiful. 

After he was done, Pike picked up her napkin and an empty plate under the pretense of getting up to throw them away. It was stupid because she already admitted to knowing him. There was no reason to have an excuse to run into him. But she threw her garbage away and walked deliberately accidentally into his line of sight. 

He stopped, looking surprised and not at all smug like he had on Saturday night. He pointed at Pike and pulled on his guitar case strap. “It’s you.” 

“Pike,” she said. “In case you forgot.” 

“I didn’t. Grog’s weight lifting buddy looks like Tinkerbell. I wouldn’t forget that.” 

“How was the three way?” Pike intended to say it loud to tease him, but also accidentally said it louder than she even wanted. Several people in the area looked at them, including Kiki, who looked slightly traumatized. 

“It was okay.” He smiled, and there was very, very, very faint blush to his cheeks. Pike felt pretty proud of that. After all he was the kind of guy who could guy-talk with Grog and arrange a threesome in front of strangers without blushing. 

“Just okay?” 

“Did you want a play by play of the proceedings?” 

“Yeah, sorry. That’s fair.” 

Scanlan scratched at the hair sticking out under his hat. Some of the curls fluffed up a bit from being touched. They looked un-product-ed and very soft. So Pike felt very vindicated about her hair thoughts. 

He shrugged. “It was what I needed.”

Pike couldn’t help her eyebrows shooting up. “Oh. I don’t really know about threesomes. Or what they provide.” 

Scanlan groaned. “I mean, sometimes you just… want to be overwhelmed, right?” 

There were, frankly, a lot of opinions and feelings that flowed from that. Many of which she didn’t quite understand, or want to understand in the middle of a coffee shop. All of which she did not want to even mention to a man she knew basically nothing about except a few things, ranging from how he sang that one song to a story Grog told her about how he once dared Scanlan to chug one of those tiny bottles of Cholula at Taco Barn. Regardless of all that racing through the back of her mind, Pike was still peculiarly also thinking about how he was just almost exactly the same size as her and really had very dark, very pretty brown eyes and he talked a big game to strange women in bars but _wanted to be overwhelmed_. 

It was a very inconvenient brain space he was creating in her. 

“Um,” was the only answer she could give. 

Scanlan’s eyes went a bit panicked for a second, before a sort of calming mask slid over his features. “Ha ha,” he said, because he definitely wasn’t laughing. “Yikes. That was, that was _too_ heavy and wildly inappropriate. I understand boundaries, I promise. I should never talk after performing.” 

“Performing leads to no boundaries?”

“Oversharing, I was thinking, but that’s probably the same thing.” He paused, staring at Pike for a moment, and then titled his chin towards the door. “I should…” 

“Kiki said you play a few times a week,” Pike said quickly. “Are you playing again soon? You were really good.” 

“Um, Monday night, I was thinking. I work weird hours.” 

“Maybe I’ll come by and see you again. I work weird hours too.” 

“Maybe if you do, I’ll be a little less stage stupid and I won’t ask you about how you like to be sexed up.” 

Pike almost bit her lip, trying not to laugh. “Maybe we’ll be able to get through one conversation some day with boundaries?” 

Scanlan smirked on his way past Pike. “Maybe.” 

Pike made her way quietly back to her seat. She wasn’t totally sure what she was doing, but she was pretty sure that, at least for the moment, she did it pretty well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~*~
> 
>  
> 
> songs of note:
> 
> -qu'est-ce que c'est: [the original psycho killer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yX6FsTIq6ls) and the one i'm sort of imagining for [the rendition pike heard on the violin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=026BvXYsIqM)  
> -[acoustic cover of borderline](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GaXASFMiHO4)  
> -[ain't no sunshine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tIdIqbv7SPo) by bill withers (the real one bc i don't want to imagine how many acoustic covers by white boys there are)  
> -[heel turn 2](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bKVY5_FB2i0) by the mountain goats (the real one also for similar reasons. it's only important you get the impression this is basically the scanlan anthem) 
> 
> thanks for reading and all the wonderful comments and thoughts you have shared with me. i really feel inadequate in expressing how much i've appreciated it. i'm so grateful to you guys for that. thank you <3


	6. once upon a time i was falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little inspired by [this post](http://jabletown.tumblr.com/post/161435039963/shorthalt-shorthalt-critical-role-au-where)\-- apartment block vm modern au
> 
> Scanlan tries to delay the inevitable with 202 and gets to know Pike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi again to the best people in the world, pikelan fans. pandering. 
> 
> anyway, things to know? i did some editing and clean up on the previous chapters. so now there aren't so many stupid typos and errors! 
> 
> there's sex this time! sort of. not really. talking about sex with scanlan and the threesome couple from last chapter, who are named erica and jaime btw. they're ocs and they don't matter at all so i don't think i even got to their names last chapter. but they're just people who work at the club, but they're added to the tags because there's a not insignificant post coital scene. 
> 
> continuing my thank you tour, thank you so much, readers here and everyone in the scanclave. for all your gorgeous comments and song suggestions and support. this is a slower burn than i anticipated going in, so i really really appreciate your continued acknowledgement and love. it's been a superb time hearing from you guys.
> 
> i hope you enjoy.
> 
>  
> 
> ~*~

Monday, true to her "maybe," Pike walked into The Sun Tree. He was playing his second song, _Electric Love_ , when she sat down at a table very close to the stage. 

Scanlan was trying to cut back on the dramatics, so he wouldn’t say it was the worst thing to happen to him, even recently, but it was still monumentally terrible. She had come out of nowhere like a buff Tinkerbell on the previous Saturday and then again on Wednesday. And when one the runner lights lit up her dyed platinum pixie-cut and the curve of her breasts and her bicep—because she was sleeveless, _again_ \--he had to close his goddamn eyes in order to maintain. This was not the kind of shit he needed during a love song. 

The bar for infatuation inside him was very low. And she had vaulted over it by being really cute and being really good at busting his balls. He could almost see the little cupid arrow puncturing his stupid cartoon heart and bleeding all over the place. 

Knowing she was right there made sitting there, being watched by individual face really fucking difficult. He wanted to know the music again, really put himself into it without faking or pretending to be something else. The temptation to show off, to put on a show for _a cute girl who had come to see him play_ was triggering the memory of every bar he’d ever played and every knee slide he’d done during a guitar solo to get cute girls to look at him. 

After he finished _Electric Love_ , he couldn’t really stop himself from looking at Pike. She clapped and smiled brightly and gave him a thumb’s up. Scanlan had to resist the urge to try to compose something for her on the spot. 

Whatever his third song was initially going to be went out the window because he suddenly couldn’t remember. He started futzing with chords to bring up something familiar, muttering “don’t be an asshole, don’t be an asshole” under his breath until inspiration hit. It was a song he loved singing, especially hitting some over the top emotionality when he was making breakfast for Kaylie, but could easily downplay. He knew it inside and out. He knew this music, and wasn’t playing it for anyone else. 

Just to be safe, he kept his eyes closed. 

He started out low, hearing a bit of an uncommon hint of fry in his voice. _”Every now and then I get a little bit lonely and you’re never coming round._

Playing for these very small crowds was strange. While he tried to pay more attention to the sounds he was making, he usually noticed when people stopped talking, when they started again, when their voices switched from quiet conversation to whisper. He could feel without looking when they were paying attention to him. He could feel what kind of attention they were giving him too. Whenever he did some iconic female vocals people usually stopped conversation for a beat, and there was a kind of heightened awareness from the crowd. That made it easy to get sucked inside the process of playing. 

Time sort of slipped by him and before he knew it he was ramping down from the crescendo into _”Once upon a time there was light in my life, now there’s only love in the dark_. And when he was finished, there was a loud whistle amongst the applause. 

On one hand he was very relieved the whistle was from Pike, and not the two sort of creepy guitar nerds who always wore those stunted canvas hats they thought were fedoras and had started to appear regularly at The Sun Tree. On the other hand, his heart literally skipped a beat and this was no less a really terrible time in his life to have a crush. 

He still packed up his guitar and sat next to her. 

“Wow!” Pike said. “You really kill at the female vocalists from the 80s and 90s genre.” 

He drained his water bottle to give himself some time. “Well, I thrive with crowd pleasers. Gimme a mid-tempo pop ballad any day.” 

“You have a beard now. When did you get a beard?” 

He instinctively touched his chin. He’d almost forgotten about that. “This doesn’t count as a beard. This is a few days of stubble.”

Pike raised her eyebrows. “A few days?” 

“It grows fast.” 

“Well you better shave before you grow whatever you think a real one is. Grog will get jealous. He doesn’t have good facial hair and it’s made him bitter.” 

“So that’s why he was so weird at work this weekend.” 

Pike nodded knowingly. “Did he get all quiet?” 

“Yeah! I thought he was going to break up with me.” 

She grinned at him with that mischief in her eyes. “He’s jealous. His is all weak and patchy.” 

“That is absolutely the best news I’ve heard in weeks.” 

“Don’t tease him.” 

“How can you tell me something like that and then forbid me from using it? You might as well put the world’s most perfect cupcake in front of me and snatch it away.” 

Pike laughed. He’d heard her laugh a few times, but each time it was a little restrained. He wanted to find out how to get her laugh so hard her she couldn’t see or sit up straight.

“I bet you have enough restraint.” 

“Oooh, sister. That is a bad bet.” 

Scanlan realized, looking closely into her dark blue eyes, that he actually was closer to her than when he’d sat down. He’d sat diagonally from her across the little round café table, and now he was leaning over it, as close as he could get to her with the table in the way. He was a little appalled. Between playing in front of people for the first time in a few years and his post-rehab therapy process, his body language was now apparently _open_ and _candid_. It was pretty disgusting. 

But also, she was leaning across the table too. 

They both pulled back a little at about the same time. “Well, I believe in you anyway. I know you wouldn’t tease him too badly.” 

“Really? I don’t want to turn away your trust in me, but how do you know that?” 

“Grog’s actually a pretty good judge of character. He wouldn’t hang out with you this long if you were mean to him. And some people, you know, take advantage of how he’s a big, strong guy who’s not very… smart, I guess.” She took another sip of her drink, and then added, almost offhandedly. “Also he told me about the poker.” 

Scanlan froze in spot, the way he always did when he was caught, even though this time he was being caught for, technically, a good thing. “Ah.” 

“I asked about you a little, I guess, after we met. Grog told me how he used to lose at poker all the time with all the other Cloudtop staff. Until you started playing. And that’s how you got to be friends. He said you were good luck. But I have a suspicion that a resourceful guy like you has more than good luck.” 

Scanlan sighed. “A magician never reveals his secrets.” 

The truth was Scanlan was traditionally mediocre at any card game. He certainly didn’t know how to cheat at cards. Gambling wasn’t even close to his preferred vice. He didn’t understand wanting to throw money away on random chance. Poker was different though; in poker you could bluff. At first he’d just sat in so they wouldn’t change the rules on Grog, because he was pretty sure they had been. Scanlan had a scattered and unfocused memory, but it didn’t really compare to Grog, who had the injuries of a former football player and boxer. And maybe there was latent love of justice lurking inside Scanlan, because when he sat down at that table he really _hated_ seeing them take Grog for a ride. 

It only took two games with Scanlan for everyone else to give up the whole poker night thing at Cloudtop. 

Pike stared at him for a second, biting her lip to pause, like she was thinking of something. He took the opportunity to stare back. So far each time he’d seen her there had been a little mischievous glint in her eyes that kept her from looking too wholesome. Her short hair was a little tousled and the dark roots were growing in. The silver nail polish that had been freshly applied from the night at The Cloudtop was now mostly chipped off. Her eyeshadow was light blue and sparkly. 

She was wearing high-waisted jean shorts and a black Braving Grounds gym tank top that had obviously been cut down from a tee and showed off one of those strappy impractical bras that were meant to be shown off under loose tank tops. It was blue. It was heavenly. 

He’d had moments like this one before in his life. He knew it wasn’t an objective thought. He knew his weaknesses were floating near the surface of his brain that clouded his already unexceptional sense of restraint. But in that moment, he was pretty certain, adamant even, he’d never seen such a beautiful woman. She was muscular and fleshy and bright and he wanted to feel every part of her skin. He wanted to know every kind of smile she had. It felt very imperative that he get a chance to see more of her. Her body, her personality, her world. He wanted all of it. 

Pike made a little throat clearing noise and said, “I like your shirt. Most guys don’t wear floral.” 

Post rehab, catering to his own sense of style had mostly fallen to the wayside. He still had most of his old wardrobe. Shit, he still had stage clothes. But this shirt was actually new. It was a simple fitted t-shirt but with a full print pattern of jasmine flowers in a dark purple moonlight. His jeans lilac colored skinny jeans. Of the two, the shirt was actually from a men’s section. But most men’s clothes were too boring for him. And he was pleased; he’d actually dressed with the idea of not looking like shit in mind for this evening. 

He shrugged. “I’m too amazing to be pinned down by most of the ugly shit men are sold. I don’t like the idea that you _can’t_ wear pretty clothes as a guy. It’s harder to do, though, when you’re not performing. For some reason, I can wear rings and earrings, eyeliner, and whatever pastiche of flamboyant Goodwill leftovers I want when I’m carrying a guitar. But when I’m not, people can get aggro.” 

“Hell yeah, man! You know, I’ve always hated the idea that I’m _supposed_ to wear cute, delicate stuff just because I’m a girl.” 

They talked for a while about fashion and gender roles and what things were even chosen to be called pretty and why. Also the ridiculous inconsistent sizing of women’s clothes. Pike recounted some of her teenage memories with Grog, and Scanlan shared as many semi-censored teenage memories ash he could without feeling too sad. They didn’t get too much into their personal lives. Although he did find out she was a paramedic, which was a strange coincidence. But then he’d seen more EMTs and heard more about first responders than he ever had in his life since he’d started talking to 202. Prior to knowing 202, the only time he can remember thinking about or seeing EMT or paramedics, not that he totally understood the difference, were they were responding to his emergencies. 

Still, they talked for a while. His phone buzzed with a text from Kaylie—it was a picture of several different brass instruments that had been welded together made into one giant circuitous mess with the caption “the fart heard round the world”. It was only then he realized they’d been talking for nearly two hours. 

“Shit, it’s almost closing time.”

Pike looked at her phone. “Oh my gosh, I totally lost track of time.” Her phone case was cats with cheeseburgers for bodies. 

He nodded, trying not to look into her eyes too much. “I should probably go. I need to call an Uber.” 

“Oh, do you, maybe, want a ride?” 

“You shouldn’t invite strange men into your car.” 

Pike’s face scrunched up. She looked torn between annoyance and laughing. “Well, I have a motorcycle, so I guess that problem is solved. 

“Wait, what?” 

Pike pointed down to a helmet sitting on the ground next to her combat boots. He’d never noticed it. “What’s the policy on inviting strange men on your motorcycle?” 

“Wait. What.” 

Pike’s half-smile went a bit smug at the edges. “Are you going to be okay, Scanlan?” 

He was pretty sure he wasn’t. 

There was actually a whole wormhole of car anxieties that had come from the accident and resulting physical therapy and painkiller addiction that he had no intention of getting into a vehicle with someone he’d known for a week. And normally if he had to be in a car with a stranger and pretend he wasn’t freaking the fuck out, he’d have to act through it. Turn into the center of attention, provide enough nonstop chatter to distract them and himself. And of course, he’d have to be able to summon the energy to do that. 

But a motorcycle was a whole different, terrifying animal. 

“Aren’t you a medical professional? Isn’t a motorcycle crash, like, a one-way death ticket?” 

Pike snorted a laugh. “I mean, they can be bad. And I certainly see enough accidents. I just… I got my first bike when I was 18. It was the first cool thing I ever got for myself. I’ve never been able to give it up. It’s kind of addictive.” 

Part of him wanted to object more, but that was mostly to the idea of him sitting on one. Even though, when you put Pike and Scanlan’s addictions side by side, a motorcycle was probably a lot more on the safe side than opiates. 

“Have you never been on a motorcycle before?” She said. Her eyes brightened up with glee again. 

“No, and I won’t be getting on one now either.” 

“We wouldn’t even be going that fast through town.” 

A small shudder ran through him. There was a definite appeal. Just the excitement of it, in addition to a pretty girl trying to goad him into doing something with her. The beck and call of cool, pretty girls was probably Scanlan’s very first addiction, way before drugs ever entered the radar. And being pressed up against Pike for a prolonged period of time? Yeah, that could happen. 

But he’d already practiced his mindful self-awareness for the day. He didn’t think he could take being so close to exposed asphalt speeding under him. 

He shook his head. “How about we TBD the whole motorcycle thing?” 

She looked like she wanted to push forward, but cut herself off. She nodded. “Yeah. We’ll table it. Maybe next time we hang out. Are you playing here next week, Tuesday or Friday, maybe?”

“Tuesday sounds doable.” 

Pike smiled. “Okay.” She stood, taking her bag and helmet. She leaned down and said, a pitch lower than before, “I’m pretty sure the crotch rocket will win you over,” and left. 

Scanlan just sat in awe for a moment, reeling from the single best exit a chick had ever dealt him. It wasn’t until he saw a ridiculous _crotch rocket_ , dear god she was terrible and perfect, scream past the front of The Sun Tree that he realized they didn’t exchange numbers. 

Scanlan slung his guitar over his shoulder and walked home. 

Meeting another paramedic, and watching the cars speed by during his walk, made him think about 202. He had been trying the last few weeks not to think of 202. They texted pretty much daily, but he hadn’t written them anything back since the letter about their methhead parents. There was a blank piece of paper sitting next to his music journal addressed to 202, waiting day after day for an answer. 

It wasn’t just 202. It was Grog, maybe Jarett. Maybe Pike soon, if he continued getting to know her like he wanted. All these new people in his life knew nothing about his past, his _recent_ past, as a recovering addict. None of them knew how fresh it all was to him and at some point he’d have to explain why he couldn’t get in a car with them at the very least. And like Pike pointed out, like 202 wrote, these people trusted him. 

And he wanted to tell them but he didn’t know if it was to be honest—so he could do the right thing and return their trust—or to warn them that he was too unreliable to trust—so he wouldn’t feel the pressure of having their trust. 

Scanlan had lived both sides of this several times over. Being trusted by people he loved, and then breaking it for them. He didn’t want to put anyone through it again, himself included. And he had the sense Grog would probably still be his bro, things with 202, and even Pike already, were a little different. Pike might not care, since she’d just met him and who knew what their little flirtation would be, if anything. But 202 had grown up with that. 202 would not want that in their life again and he couldn’t blame them. 

The unwritten letter for 202 remained unwritten for the rest of the week. 

At the club that weekend, his unshaved look received mixed reviews. His tips were a little lighter than normal, but more customers wanted his opinion on drinks. Jarett said he looked distinguished. Grog said it looked good but was a bit pouty about it. His fuck buddies, Jaime and Erica, were reserved and definitely not thrilled. He’d trimmed it up to look nice, but even a short beard tended to change Scanlan’s look dramatically. Clean-shaven, he looked _very_ clean-shaven, and a beard aged him up quite a bit. It still didn’t stop them from inviting him over Saturday night after work. 

He really wished they could do this earlier on the weekdays or something, but he thought asking for that essentially because he got too tired on Sundays would make him look too old. He refused to give up that ground considering he was only a year and half older than Jaime. 

Jaime and Erica were a fashionably cool, on and off again kind of couple. He’d hooked up with both of them in one of their off phases earlier in his employment at The Cloudtop before finding that out. He hadn’t been particularly interested in keeping anything going with either of them until Erica asked him to join their threesome. He’d been honest with Pike, even if the honesty part was accidental, it was cathartic being so overwhelmed he fucking couldn’t move or think. 

Somewhere after four in the morning, bleeding into Sunday morning, Scanlan was lying naked and boneless sandwiched between Erica and Jaime. His face was still halfway on Erica’s lap as she sat up against the headboard smoking. She wasn’t a very affectionate person, but he really liked the way she softly grazed through his hair after pulling it. Jaime threw himself back in bed coming back from condom disposal and clean up, not entirely spooning him. He did run his hand down to Scanlan’s hip again, matching his fingers up to what would probably be bruise spots later, and kissed and mauled Scanlan’s neck. 

“Hot,” Erica said, followed by a phone snapshot sound. 

“I’m still fucking amped,” Jaime said. “I wanna go all night.”

Scanlan was a little too fucked out to engage, content to let them keep fucking if they wanted so long as he had this pillow to melt into. He was almost falling asleep both sides jostled him and there rustling of plastic and metallic clanking. He opened his eyes to see Erica with a round tile balanced on her knee and a razor in one hand.

She smiled. “Want a bump?” 

The sigh that came out of him sounded like it had been pent up for seventy years. And he could already feel his legs and back tensing up. “No. No, thank you. I’m not a coke guy.” 

From behind him, Jaime shrugged. “We’ve got some MDMA left from the club. We’ve got some pills in the cabinet, too.”

Scanlan groaned. “Oh man, I really only wanted to get fucked hard.” 

Jaime chuckled. “If that wasn’t good enough for you, dude, gimme a minute.” 

Scanlan shook his head and pulled himself off, crawling off the bed and immediately looking around for his clothes as soon as he stood. His heart was rattling loud in his chest. “No, I can’t… I’ve got to get out of here.” 

Erica scoffed. “You’re joking, right.” 

Scanlan kicked the cum rag off his pants and snatched them off the ground. His heartbeat was getting faster and flashes of memory raced around his head. Shooting up in club bathrooms and the car crash and fights with Sybil and his mother’s tired eyes. He didn’t know why he was feeling this so strongly. He knew people did drugs at the club every night he was there, but this was throbbing in his neck and in his chest. He really wanted to get high. But he also wanted out, and didn’t want to have a panic attack with his dick flopping around. Once he had had his shirt at least around him and his shoes in his hands, he started to breathe a little slower. 

“You’re selling at the club, aren’t you?” He said, looking at them again. They stayed stock still. “It’s okay. I don’t _care_. I won’t narc on you I just… I just got out of rehab. I can’t.” 

“You’re not even staying the night?” 

“I can’t.” 

He walked out of the room and headed through the house. It would’ve been a great exit, and he could’ve potentially avoided speaking to them for, luck willing, the end of time. Except he had to turn back around because he remembered his phone was still on Jaime’s dresser playing the _Scanlan’s Songs to Fuck to_ playlist he’d specifically made for fucking Erica and Jaime because he couldn’t stand what they provided. 

He ran back in, smiled awkwardly while they glared at him, took his phone, and then left. 

It was too late, or early, to walk that far back home with a roll of cash in his pocket from tips, so he called a taxi. He'd just have to deal with the car ride. Waiting in the cool night air allowed him to breathe. He tried to flush out all the thoughts that had been going through his head, about all times he’d gotten fucked up in the past, often times with people just like Erica and Jaime. The problem with those memories were a lot of them were good. Getting high and playing music or dancing and fucking and going to clubs—all of that had been fun. That was the point of getting high. It was by definition impossible to separate from the euphoria. 

It was the day after that had been the problem. The day after when he didn’t quite know who’s bed he was waking up in, when he felt like a dried out husk, when his body itched and throbbed for another hit. The day after when he’d broken promises, and missed jobs, and forgotten to tell his family where he was going and that he was still alive. 

Every minute of waiting for the taxi was another minute he could go right back in to Jaime and Erica’s room, and feel that euphoria again. Part of him was reeling. He was standing less than twenty yards from feeling a kind of bliss he thought he would never feel again. 

He kept standing on the sidewalk. He kept breathing. 

It was nearing five when he lumbered into his apartment after a tense, but uneventful drive. He felt exhausted, but not tired anymore. His heartbeat was still alert and awake. The first thing he saw when he put down his keys and kicked his shoes off was the unwritten letter to 202 next to his practice violin, out of its case. So he started thinking about how he’d start the letter. And picked up his violin, fingering the notes to Vitali’s _Chaconne_ with his left hand and starting sentences with his right. 

Except he crossed out every sentence. Everything was too flip, or too serious, or too blunt. And after a while he picked up his bow in his right hand and started playing. 

_Chaconne_ was complicated and dexterous and dense, full of emotion. It had been his admission piece to Ellington. Playing it absorbed his mind enough that his mind and his body felt like they were vibrating at the same frequencies again. 

Surprisingly, Scanlan got as far as into the climax near the end before there was a loud, thunderous pounding on his door. 

On the other side was the couple he shared an apartment wall with, Kima and Allura. They were in pajamas and did not look happy. Hair was falling out of Allura’s braids and Kima immediately pointed a finger in Scanlan’s face. 

“It’s five in the goddamn morning, Scanlan! On a Sunday!” 

“Oh.” Obviously he knew that, but it hadn’t really meant anything until an angry lesbian police officer in blue and yellow boxers covered in cartoon sushi was yelling at him. “I, um, forgot.” 

If possible, Kima looked even angrier. “You forgot?!” 

Allura, who he suspected had come along so Kima wouldn’t murder him, smile-frowned ruefully. “That was actually very lovely, Scanlan. But please don’t play before, I don’t know, 9 AM. Especially on weekends.” 

“Yeah, I know. I know that, but I… forgot.” 

Kima scowled. 

“Are you alright?” Allura said, looking insightful. “You look…”

“Like shit,” Kima finished. “You smell like—“ Kima gave him a look that was a mix of intense loathing and possibly grudging respect. It definitely had everything to do with the fact he still smelled strongly of pussy in the beard and face area. “I want to be clear. I do not care what you with your life. I don’t know if you’re waking up now or you never slept. But you should get some sleep. If only so you don’t forget you can’t play the loudest sad screeching in the world at five in the goddamn morning.” 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Allura said, with Kima whispering through a sigh a plaintive, “Ally” just after. 

“I’m having a crisis of conscience. It’s okay, though. I think I know what to do now.” 

Allura nodded in surprise. “Oh. Good.” 

Scanlan nodded and raised his bow. “I promise that won’t happen again.” 

“Yeah, good.” Kima said, directing Allura back to their apartment next door. 

Shutting the door behind him, Scanlan took a deep breath. He put down his bow, foraged for breakfast in the pantry, and arranged his food and phone all around a chair at the table. He opened up a notebook to an entirely different page and, regardless of what reaction he might get in response, started to write to 202.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~*~
> 
> for anyone curious pike's bike is an older model [kawasaki ninja 500](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/fb/2000_Kawasaki_Ninja_500R_front-right.jpg). 
> 
> songs of note:  
> -[electric love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=40l7e0cgMCA) cover  
> -TOTAL ECLIPSE OF THE HEART (i'm super proud of this choice) (the [acoustic](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nXnxZKKmcuQ), the [original](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lcOxhH8N3Bo))  
> -i did not collect a whole playlist of pantypeelers for scanlan's songs to fuck to, but i do have a few in mind, namely some glass animals songs like [psylla](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zTi5KEwHTxg) and [gooey](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IIA1XQnAv5s)  
> -vitali's [chaconne](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9_V0KE_8c4U) (suggested by birds_and_words ty!) 
> 
> thanks for reading!


	7. scanlan's letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunday morning, Scanlan sends a letter to 202

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not a real chapter!! 
> 
> Pike's pov will technically be chapter 8 now. In writing it I realized it would just be easier to write a whole draft of Scanlan's letter. After which I realized it would be easier to post that thing in its entirety rather than keep referencing it in Pike's pov without you people knowing about it. 
> 
> So here it is. Scanlan's guilt induced recovery letter following his hasty exuent from threesomes and drugs. 
> 
>  
> 
> ~*~

> Dear 202—
> 
>  
> 
> It’s been a while since I wrote a letter, and there’s been a reason for that. I keep wanting to start this with an R Kelly _Confessions_ joke even though I probably shouldn’t align myself with R Kelly. Gross. But I’m nervous. 
> 
> I’ve been nervous a lot lately. 
> 
> Lately is inaccurate. For over a year now. Just a constant state of doubt and I don’t even remember how to behave normally, or if there even was a normal before this. 
> 
> There’s no graceful or gentle way to get through this, so I’ll just tell you. I’m a recovering heroin and opioid addict. Eleven years ago I went into rehab because I was a heroin addict. About nine months ago I overdosed on fentanyl and heroin, after months of oxycodone and other opioid abuse. Shortly after I went into a 30-day inpatient rehab for my opioid addiction. 
> 
> I’m telling you for several reasons, good and bad ones. 
> 
> I’m recovering and I have to be invested in recovery. It can’t be a secret part of my life or it’s not part of my life at all. 
> 
> I’m turning 30 in a month. I’m terrified of relapsing in my thirties and going from the guy who’s fun to have a party to the guy who’s a permanent fuck up that can’t be trusted. 
> 
> I feel guilty when my therapist is disappointed in me. 
> 
> You told me about your parents, which I know was hard to do. Addicts hurt you, and you deserve to know that you’re offering friendship to an addict. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore. But I’m just as capable of it as they are. So I want you to be safe and be wary. Maybe to you, telling people about your parents isn’t ever difficult. Even still, I can only repay the favor. 
> 
> Part of me knows there’s also a chance you’ll want nothing to do with me, given your history. And I can’t honestly say that wouldn’t be a small relief. I’ve gotten pretty cowardly since I relapsed. I’m afraid of disappointing and hurting more people. The easiest way to avoid all of that would to just be alone. And I’ve had to fight the desire to run away a lot. But that’s not why I’m telling you these things. 
> 
> I want to tell the truth so you know I respect you. I want the new friends I have to know who I really am. Not many people have really known me, which was always by design mostly. I have no way of knowing if I’m right, but everything you give me feels so genuine I can’t help but feel all my falseness. I don’t want it to be that way. 
> 
> We write these letters and it’s such a strange way to show yourself to someone. There’s so much more control in a letter than meeting face to face, or even on the internet. Here we have so much time to pick what words we want to say about ourselves. It’s too precise. It’s too sculpted. There’s formality in letter writing, even these short, anonymous notes. We can elevate ourselves into things that are better, more prepared, more eloquent than we are. 
> 
> It’s clear you’re a sweet and caring person, but I can also see the tiredness. You deal with more stress every day than I can imagine. I want to hear you stutter and curse and lose your train of thought. I want to know what makes you angry. I want to know what makes you cry. I want to know the real and chaotic patterns of your thoughts, in addition to everything you’ve shown me. Because you’re a real person. 
> 
> And so am I. 
> 
> The letters I’ve sent you don’t give a good impression of the person I am. I’m contradictory and petty. I’m a lot more nervous and anxious than I act. I think I’m funnier in person than on the page, but also more stupid. You have not even been introduced to my any part of my catalog of puns and dick jokes. I don’t like the idea of you hearing me play Shostakovich and Tchaikovsky without knowing I’m a true low brow connoisseur. I know how to manipulate words pretty well so it’s easy to pretend I’m smart. Given the time I can convince people that I’m impressive and well put together and accomplished. I am not. I’m barely putting my life back together. 
> 
> I have a history of concealing most of me, even when I’m not using. And I don’t want to do that with people who don’t do that with me. 
> 
> I’m a much different person than I was a year ago. I made a mistake and it tripped me the fuck up. The mistake wasn’t just the drugs, even though, yeah that was a big part. The other mistake was thinking that going through rehab and quitting heroin when I was 19 healed me. It was a mistake to think I was going to stay fixed forever, because the fix didn’t hold. The fix never holds because the drugs don’t cause your problems. Drugs only enhance the things that are already wrong. So I know now the broken thing inside comes from me and I’m still figuring out how to treat it without ruining everything again. I feel like I’m some machine I have to operate, but I don’t have any instructions so I keep fucking up. Maybe if I were alone I wouldn’t be so afraid of it, but I’ve had plenty reminders that what I do doesn’t only hurt me. 
> 
> My mother, my daughter, and even my daughter’s mother all depend on me. When I relapsed I hurt them all badly. I fought with my mother and convinced her that her boyfriend at the time was cheating on her, because I thought he was bad for her. I skipped out on time with my daughter because I couldn’t prioritize her when I was too high. I yelled at my daughter for stupid reasons when I was in pain or jonesing. I became an unpredictable and scary dad. I slept with my ex, knowing she still loved me and I did not love her. I convinced my ex to lend me money that I used to buy more drugs. 
> 
> Towards the end, when I got petty and spiteful and mean, I quit my job as a music tutor. I had already stopped performing my original music. I stopped sending in my commercial freelance work. I spent all my time partying with other addicts and finding people who wouldn’t challenge me to be better. I started doing heroin again after being clean for ten years. My ex told me she’d cut me off from my daughter and I lost it after that. 
> 
> I wish I could be clear about the details, but I don’t really remember all of them. I know it was an explosive fight at my mother’s and I threatened to kill myself. After that I went out with the other people I was buying from and using with. We went from party to party for a while and that’s when I overdosed. They kept me from dying or going to the hospital. By the time I was cogent enough to get back home, it was four days after my fight with my ex. 
> 
> I went to rehab, started therapy again, started Narcotics Anonymous. I apologized to my daughter, my mother, my ex, even though apologies aren’t going to fix the things I did. How I broke their trust is a part of my every day relationship with them now. 
> 
> And I’m writing this letter to you because I’ve been thinking about trustworthiness a lot lately. 
> 
> I have a few new people in my life. For whatever reason, some of them trust me and like having me around. 
> 
> I just got home a few hours ago. I was with some friends—friends with benefits type of friends. I don’t know if it’s good for me to have a lot of casual sex right now. I don’t know if that contradicts my goals to be a better, functioning adult. But since I cut out the drugs it’s the only vice I have left. Later they offered me some coke and I found out they’re dealing drugs where I work. 
> 
> I abstained, but I felt very much like I couldn’t be in there. I ran out pretty hastily. I’m not sure how I’m going to work around them now, but it’s going to be pretty fucking awkward. That’s okay. I didn’t trust myself to be there. Which is maybe why I want other people to trust me now, even though I don’t think they should. 
> 
> You’re a good person. You deserve other good people in your life. I try, but I don’t do that great of a job. Maybe trying is not enough. I don’t know. That’s a judgment you would have to make. 
> 
> I’d like to meet you in person, for us to get to really know each other. It’s probably not fair to put the ball in your court, but it has to be. You can reject me and I will understand the reasons why. I won’t text you or send you any notes to bug you about it if knowing someone like me will just remind you of your parents. 
> 
> If you want to continue talking without ever seeing me, I understand that too. 
> 
> I’m sorry this puts a lot in front of you. If you had addicts for parents, you’ve always had this burden, and I’m sorry for that too. But if you still want to give me a chance, I want to be your friend. 
> 
> You know where to reach me.
> 
>  
> 
> Love, 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~*~ 
> 
> No real new music for this unchapter except to say I've been listening to a lot of Glass Animals and alt-J while writing this. I just wanted this to be pretty stream of consciousness and unorganized following an intense success for him in Saying No, but also a sleepless night after work and then a ménage à trois. 
> 
> It's based off his recovery but also the letter Scanlan gave Pike before the Umbrasyl fight. Sam said in his ama that Scanlan revealed Everything in that letter, so I went for the very rare Scanlan overshare in this letter. 
> 
> Pike's pov and reaction to this coming soon!


	8. they'll give us a talking too, everybody's talking too much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little inspired by [this post](http://jabletown.tumblr.com/post/161435039963/shorthalt-shorthalt-critical-role-au-where)\-- apartment block vm modern au
> 
> Pike puts two and two together for 304.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so idefk what i'm supposed to say in these things anymore. there are so many words in it, i've forgotten what all of them mean. 
> 
> warnings? uhhh, more frank talk about addiction, living with addicts. that's it? 
> 
> hope you read. hope you enjoy. llap. muah. 
> 
>  
> 
> ~*~

Monday morning Pike checked the mail, almost entirely looking for the normal, post delivered mail, instead she found a note from 304.

She read it over coffee. And then read it again over a bowl of frosted mini-wheats. And sat down on the couch and read it again.

Note didn’t really cover it. There were three pages of notebook paper covered in 304’s messy near-cursive handwriting, stapled together and folded into in an envelope. It was a full, long letter. She hadn’t read anything so dense or complicated that weren’t medical texts since high school English class. She felt like she needed to get out a highlighter to point out the central themes and take notes on points she disagreed with. 

There was a lot in it. It was a download of 304’s history as a drug addict and the events of their recent relapse, but also kind of rambly opinions about trust and honesty and recovery. It was more apologetic and doubtful than anything 304 had written so far. It was… intimate. Reading it made her feel like her chest cavity had been replaced with a can of moths. She was sitting at a table with her pulse racing in her neck. 

He kept saying how it was important he told her these things, but there was a large part of her that didn’t agree. She immediately started to write something back in the notebook she used almost exclusively for notes to 304, but she didn’t get any farther than _I am not the people you hurt_. 

She looked angrily down at the signature at the end of the letter. Somewhere in the scribble was his name, instead of the usual 304. She couldn’t even tell if the first letter was a narrow cursive S, a weird J, or a very lenient T. Except for a y at the end of the second name, the rest was gibberish. 

Pike ripped the paper out of her notebook and folded it up with 304’s letter. She shoved it in her bedside table drawer, where the rest of 304’s notes were. She tried to shake it out of her mind. The rest of the day was laid out in front of her and she didn’t want to think about it, for at least a day. 

That didn’t turn out to be a very successful tactic, at least one fate would not allow. 

At work the second stop she and Kash made was to the scene of a bad car collision. One lane of the highway was going to be closed off, and a second ambulance arrived on the scene after them. An SUV had entered oncoming traffic, hit two vehicles, and then flipped in the southbound ditch. One of the two vehicles had only been slightly damaged by hitting the first car in the front with no one inside any more than mildly shocked by the experience. But the first car’s passenger had been badly hurt in the crunch. At the scene, she definitely had her left leg broken in multiple places, probably torn ligaments in her neck, and a head injury. 

The man in the SUV came out of his overturn with some minor bruising and neck strain. She’d been told he was incredibly drunk, reeking of booze and barely holding his attention through one sentence at a time. It was hardly surprising he’d caused such an accident. 

Rage poured into every muscle she had after the first officer on the scene briefed them. Her hands were shaking so badly she couldn’t start the IV. Kash had to grab her arm and pull her up into the driver’s seat to care for the woman. 

It wasn’t until two hours later that they got their dispatch go ahead to take their break. As soon as the bus came to park Kash’s attention snapped to her. 

“You mind telling me what the hell is wrong with you today?” 

“I’m, uh, a little distracted I guess.” 

Kash’s eyes flashed wide for a second. “Oh really? Have you been distracted? I never would have guessed.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Well, spit it out. I know how you work. It won’t stop bothering you until you talk about it and I can’t take another shift like this.” 

Pike groaned. “I’ve had a lot on my mind lately, I guess… A friend of mine just told me he’s an addict. A recovering addict. He went to rehab and he says he’s clean now, but… it just reminded me of my parents, I guess. I don’t know what to do know.” 

Kash took his sandwich out of his lunchbox. He had an actual old-fashioned metal lunchbox and it wheezed and slammed shut with a loud clank that filled the front of the bus. He shrugged violently. “What do you need to do about it?” 

Pike moved back uncomfortably in her seat, trying to relax a knot in her shoulder. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t.” 

Kash gestured at the open air and Pike felt like she discerned what it meant. _There’s nothing here. What do you see if there’s nothing there?_ Or there was always the possibility of Kash not giving a fuck and he was really telling her to shut up. 

“It was… a really emotional letter,” she added. 

Kash sighed. “He said he’s clean. Do you believe him?” 

Pike worried her bottom lip. “I think so.” 

“If you’re doubtful, you probably don’t.” 

“No, no, he’s… My basis for comparison is my parents, okay. My parents made a living off of crank. They’ve never once apologized to me and they’re the ones who actually should. They promised me things would be better and they’d be there for me a lot, but they never did. So I know addicts can lie to get what they want, but I don’t think he was lying. I just, I don’t know. I don’t know why he needed to tell me. I don’t know why he apologized to me.” 

“Why did he apologize? What did he do?” 

“I guess he thought he was lying to me. Or keeping secrets from me.” 

Kash crossed his arms. “Okay. Did he lie to you?” 

“No, but I told him about my parents. So he told me about his addiction. So I can decide whether to trust him or not. He said he was telling me because he respects me and wants to get to know me better.” 

“Do you think that’s a lie?”

“No.” 

“Oooo-kay. Would you rather he didn’t tell you?” 

“No.” 

Kash’s eyes did that crazy-angry thing while his face didn’t move. “So you don’t know why he told you but you wanted him to tell you?” 

Pike tried to wipe a smudge off the side window. “Well, when you put it like that it sounds stupid.” 

“Look, telling you his situation based off your family situation sounds like it’s on the up and up. I mean, there’s nothing this guy has to gain by telling you that, right? You’re not likely to be more sympathetic after hearing that.” 

Pike shook her head. 

“Okay. It sounds like you’re more pissed about your parents than you are at him. That being said, you can tell this guy to fuck off. You don’t owe him anything.”

“You just said it sounds on the up and up.” 

Kash shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know that guy. I know you. And you can tell him to fuck off, even if it’s just because he reminds you of your parents.” 

“That doesn’t seem fair,” she said, even though she smiled at Kash. 

“Whatever. Life’s not fair. Having meth heads for parents isn’t fair.” 

Pike sighed, finally taking her own paper lunchbag out from the underseat compartment. “No, it’s not, but I don’t want to pass that along to someone else who doesn’t deserve it.” 

“Then don’t.” Kash emphasized his point by taking a big bite from his sandwich. “You can do whatever you want. You just have to know what you want to do. If you can’t handle the addict thing, then don’t.” 

“I guess I’ll have to think about it.” 

Kash nodded. “Yeah, sure. Not on the job.” 

“I know. I’ll do better. It was just that…” 

“That drunk, I know.” 

“Yeah.” 

Kash looked at her pointedly. “We get drunks, addicts, shitty people all the time. We have to treat them too.” 

“I know. It won’t happen again.” 

“Good,” Kash nodded and took another bite. “I’ll kick his ass if he bugs you about it though… What’s he like? He’s not, like, Grog-sized is he?” 

Pike laughed. 304 had mentioned being short once or twice, as well as absolutely hating exercise. “Well, he practices the violin for a few hours every day so I don’t think he has much time to go to the gym.” 

Kash rolled his eyes. “Musicians.” Then his expression turned curious, or suspicious, which is what curious looked like on Kash. “Wait, is this that guy? The little Burt Reynolds guy? Scantron?” 

“Scanlan,” she corrected and then stopped in her verbal tracks. 

She didn’t really want to explain that she hadn’t technically met 304. There was something about not really seeing him, only communicating by letter, that made her stunned confusion at his most recent letter seem so melodramatic. From the outside, at least. She didn’t want Kash to know she was getting so mixed up over someone she hadn’t even seen, but lived next door. 

But, also, that was weird. Up until Kash said that, she didn’t realize that Scanlan was a musician too. She’d only thought of him as a bartender, Grog’s work buddy, but Kash and even Grog had told her that Scanlan had been in bands before. 

That was a weird coincidence that for some reason sat at odds in her mind. 

It was easier for now to just not mention 304 and Scanlan were different people. 

Tuesday was Pike’s day off and she spent most of it not exactly thinking about 304, but with him looming in her brain. Or rather, with some honest perspective from Kash, how 304’s letter made her feel about her parents and herself looming in her brain.

Pike wasn’t a fan of introspection so she went to Papa Wilhand’s. 

They had tea while Wilhand updated her on the recent achievements and gossip of the old neighborhood, and complained about rabbits getting into the garden and the raccoons getting into the garbage. Pike helped him reinforce the garden netting, and then looked around the house for things to fix while Wilhand watched The Price is Right. Two hours later when Pike was halfway through cleaning and sorting through already labeled boxes in the attic, Wilhand called her down for lunch. 

It was grilled spam and cheese with tomato soup, which was a slightly more fitting meal for wet November weather than a sunny August day, but had been Pike’s favorite comfort food growing up. Wilhand had made it for her whenever she was sick or upset. Pike dipped her sandwich in her soup, took a bite, and watched some of the cheese stretch from the toast. 

Not long after her second bite, her suspicions were confirmed. Wilhand cleared his throat. “You know that I’d never complain, pumpkin, but what really brings you here today?” 

Pike smiled despite herself. “I can’t hide anything from you, can I?” 

Papa Wilhand laughed and tapped a finger on the side of his temple. “Steel trap.” 

She sighed. “Did my parents ever really try to get me back?” Wilhand seemed a little surprised that was what Pike wanted to know. In his silence, she went on. “I mean, did they ever make plans with you to really be my parents again? Did they ever get their act together and maybe you just never told me because you didn’t want me to get my hopes up?” 

Wilhand moved his spoon from hand to table back to his hand again nervously. “There were, uh, two or three times they promised me they would move, uh, residences and quit their illegal business. But nothing ever came of it. They never stopped… Anyways, they always wound up admitting you were better off here, where you could focus on school and making friends. They did that right, at least.” 

Pike forced a smile. She agreed with him. She either didn’t remember or refused to remember her early years in their house, but she knew enough to know it was very bad to be a child in a crank house. Her aunt and uncle were less involved in the manufacture, but still sold drugs too. And her cousin JB had gone off to someone on her mother’s side of the family and gotten emancipated at sixteen. It was far from the first time Pike wondered how different she’d be if she’d grown up with her parents. And she knew she’d be worse off—probably she wouldn’t have trained to be a paramedic, and was statistically more likely to start doing drugs or selling drugs herself. 

Still, it hurt to be so ignored by the people who brought her into the world. 

“Did your mother ever try to get a hold of you?” He said warily. 

Pike shook her head. “I just wanted to know if they’d ever made any attempts at recovery.”

Wilhand made a dismissive sound. “They talked about it, but they never did anything. Things would start to go on the right track, and then your father would get arrested or your mother would disappear for weeks without any word.”

“Did they ever… apologize, at all? For anything?” 

“Not that I can recall.” Wilhand sniffed, his frown full of disappointment. “What brought this all up, young Pike?”

Pike shook her head. “I was just fantasizing, I suppose. I am really glad I had you instead, Pop-pop.” 

Wilhand reached across the corner of the table and squeezed her hand quickly. “I’m glad I had you, too, pickle.” 

She did not reach any resolution on what to do with 304 through the rest of her day. She supposed it’d had only been a day since she read the letter, but it felt closer to a week. 

The closer it came for her sort-of-maybe date to see Scanlan play at The Sun Tree, the more she was looking forward to a distraction. And a little music. No sound had come from 304 since the weekend—nothing sad, nothing quiet. Just nothing. 

A little after 7:30, Pike parked her bike outside The Sun Tree, hoping to be a little early to have some coffee by herself and collect her thoughts. But she saw Scanlan as soon as she walked in. He was already onstage, but not playing. He was standing on a stool and leaning over into the top of a piano that was now suddenly sitting at the head of the stage. Half of his body was shoved inside the body of the piano at first, but instantly she suspected the galaxy print chucks with purple laces were probably him. 

He stood up from the stool with some kind of wrench in his hand, a smear of grease on his face just visible above what was now a fuller beard than before, but still short. He was wearing white pants and a black shirt with a star on it and inside the star was that one picture of He-Man with the words “oh my god do I try.” 

His gaze turned to her when she laughed. He waved with his wrench and hopped off the stool a little awkwardly, walking towards Pike. 

“Hi,” he said, a little breathy from whatever he’d been doing inside a piano. His hair was not over styled, so the curls sort of bounced a little when he walked. She really liked that. 

“Hi. When did they get a piano?” 

“This weekend, I guess. I was tuning it.” 

“You can tune a piano? I didn’t know you played.” 

“I’ve been playing piano since I was three.” 

Pike stared at him dubiously. She didn’t know three year olds could play anything other than those little multicolored xylophones on wheels. “Shut up.” 

Scanlan shrugged.

“Seriously?” 

He mimed zipping his lips, so she poked his shoulder until he gave it up. His shoulders were a bit wider than the rest of him, but he really was on the scrawny side. There wasn’t much to poke. 

“Ow, yes. No big.” 

“No, it’s just a _piano_ with like a hundred keys—“

“88, usually.”

“—and like an infinite amount of songs to make.”

Scanlan weighted the statement in his hands and shrugged. “Sure.”

“How does a three-year-old learn anything like that?” 

“Well I wasn’t the multi-instrumentalist genius then that I am now, but my mom taught me. I think most three year olds learn just about everything from moms. Anyway, she’s a dancer, so there was always a piano at the studio. Do you want to sit down, or continue this conversation in everybody’s way?” 

Pike looked behind her and realized she was sort of standing in front of the counter. They found a place to sit, talked about when Scanlan was going to play, and got back up to order drinks.

“Good to see you haven’t been horribly maimed in a motorcycle accident yet,” Scanlan said, as soon as they sat back down. 

“I know it’s not the safest choice, but I always wear a helmet. I understand my machine. I’m a good driver.” 

He shook his head. “And you, an EMT. You’re supposed to be safe and wise.”

Pike laughed. “You obviously don’t know many medical professionals. I think a lot of us have strange little outlets to deal with what we do that aren’t exactly sensible or safe.” 

Scanlan grinned. “That makes sense.” 

“And I’m a paramedic, not an EMT.” 

They talked for a bit about the differences between medical responders, and the non-graphic version of what Pike did from day to day in her job. She did mention a bit about the drunk driving accident from the day before simply because it was still heavy and present in her mind. Scanlan winced at the recounting of it. 

“That sounds a little like my accident.” 

For a second she thought about the drunk driver kickstarting a bunch of feelings about her parents and 304, but shook her head. “What?” 

“Like two years ago, I was hit by a truck on my way to a gig. My left leg was busted up pretty bad.” His face suddenly switched to a cheesy grin. “There’s a part of my shin in my knee now, I think. I don’t really understand what that means except that there are a couple of screws in there. And kneeling makes me feel like I’m about 89. And it clicks when I walk up a lot of stairs.” 

“You had an ACL graft? From your patellar tendon?” Pike said, assuming that was what he meant by the shin. 

“That sounds right.”

“How long was your physical therapy?” 

His fake smile slipped into a sadder, more subdued one. “Ugh, well, I had another fracture. So it took a long time to be mobile. And then there was about two months of physical therapy… It didn’t go very well. I had some trouble with the oxycodone they gave me for the pain.” 

“Are you allergic?” 

Scanlan pressed his lips together and let out a quiet, sustained groan. “More the opposite of that. My, uh, prescription ended and I didn’t like that very much. So I just kept taking it.” 

“Wait, how did—Oh.” 

“Yeah,” Scanlan said, looking around the table awkwardly. “Well, you know there’s an opioid epidemic in America right now and I’ve always followed the latest fads.” He tried for a gainful laugh, but it fell flat. 

For a moment it felt like Pike had double vision. On one hand, she felt like she was destined to have addicts thrown at her. But on the other hand, what the fuck. 304 went to rehab for opioid addiction. 304 was a musician. 304 definitely played the piano. 304 had not mentioned anything about a car accident, but he had said something about the context for his addiction not mattering. Pike was also suddenly remembering a text from maybe two weeks back of 304 saying he didn’t want to walk anywhere because his knee hurt. 

Scanlan couldn’t be 304, though, she thought. Grog would have probably definitely said something if his best buddy from work lived twenty yards from them. 

A long moment passed while Pike tried to wrap her head around the idea of this being the biggest coincidence ever or not one at all. Because she had either somehow found two different men with the exact same storyline or she had somehow befriended the same man twice. Pike could cope with injuries and death and dying at a moment’s notice. She could not say the same for wacky sitcom hijinks coming to life before her. 

Scanlan’s face slid into worry in the silence. “I’m not—I’m sober now. I’m fine now. I mean, I’m an addict. I’ve learned my lesson, I think, about saying I used to be an addict. It’s never really in the past. That kind of shit goes with you everywhere. But I’m not using anymore. Narcotics Anonymous, therapy, being honest and open as much as I can, whatever value of can that is. The whole nine yards.” 

Pike nodded a lot while 304’s letter rang like a bell in her head. All she wanted to say was _Holy shit, you’re 304, holy shit!_ , but what came out was, “Yeah, uh huh. Because that’s good.” 

One corner of Scanlan’s mouth frowned, looking at her. Then she watched as his face went a little blank, and removed. “Yeah, you’re pretty freaked out. Should I stop? Should I go?” 

“No, no. I just…” Pike took a deep breath, trying to stall for anytime to think of something that wouldn’t reveal her as 202, or was just going to be her screaming that he was 304. She wanted the time. All she’d wanted since she got 304’s letter was just a little more time to think. 

“Don’t go,” she said. “I know some people who’ve had problems with addiction. I know it’s been rough. For them. For the people around them. That sounds like you had a really terrible time.” 

He nodded tightly, but the distant look went away from his eyes. “It’s not a thing I want to make a big deal out of, but I don’t want to hide it from people I trust either.” 

Pike was a little afraid if she opened her mouth she might start yelling, so she just nodded her head in kind. She was almost definitely sort of certain she was sitting across the table from 304. That in itself was the wildest part. But she also wanted to yell because she wasn’t ready to talk to 304 yet. She had things to say—about how what he said had scared her, about how it had moved her. She was mad. A little at 304 for putting this huge, important thing in the middle of their friendship, even if like Kash said, when it came down to it, she wanted to know the truth and appreciated that he told the truth. Mostly she was mad at her parents, who never in 27 years gave her the same kind of respect 304 gave her after knowing each other for months. 

And not least of all, she wanted more time with that letter because she’d never received anything like it in her life. 

She knew she had friends who loved and respected her. They showed it in their actions and even with their words on occasion. But no one had ever given her a thing like that letter, that was so open and inviting her to know more, for them to know each other. She wanted more time because as frightening as the overload of honesty had been, it had also been a little intoxicating. 

Instead of having her own time to deliberate and consider what 304 said, she was sitting a few feet away from him. 

“That’s a good thing,” Pike said finally. “Really trying to improve is… it’s not nothing. Some people never recover.” 

He looked at her with sad eyes and nodded. He looked away suddenly, shaking his head ruefully. “Oh boy, we really never are going to get a handle on that whole ‘conversation with boundaries’ thing, are we? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make everything awkward and way too intimate. Also, all about me again. I suck.” 

Despite sitting on the edge of hysteria over this whole turn of events, Pike knew exactly what to say would turn Scanlan’s night around. And she couldn’t resist. 

“Not much, I bet, if you can’t get on your knees anymore.” 

Pike had not seen that much unrestrained joy and wonder on anyone’s face since Grog had his first Christmas with Pike and Wilhand. She thought she probably saw every one of his teeth in that smile and maybe a few extra dimples. Once he overcame the shock, still bright-eyed and smiling, put a hand over his chest and feigned scandal. 

“Pike! You scoundrel!” 

“I thought you’d like that one.” 

“I did. I do! I don’t think I’ve ever been called a cocksucker in a finer and more creative way. Bravo.” 

Pike felt her cheeks warm a little bit. This was such a confusing night. “I’ve never met a guy who likes being razzed as much as you.”

“A mouthy guy like me? I’m a word-playa.” The grin on his face was nearly x-rated in its satisfaction with itself. 

“Do you need to be kinkshamed right now?” 

“No one has managed it yet, but you could always try.” 

Thankfully, one of the baristas cut in yelling his name—which, oh yeah, could definitely have been the scribble that was 304’s signature. Pike was a little too frantic feeling just about every emotion simultaneously to come up with a response to that, let alone a witty or flirty one. 

Scanlan trotted over to the stage—now that she knew about his knee she could see a very slight limp when he leapt up on it—bypassing his guitar case. Instead he sat at the bench in front of the piano. He played a set of songs that Pike had never heard before, but the tone or energy or whatever it was that created a signature peeled out as 304’s. He played out bridges between each song, which absolutely blew Pike’s mind because he had to be making them up on the spot. She thought it was pretty impressive considering she didn’t even know how to identify a C from a G. 

His set was beautiful. He sang for two of them, more lively than most of the guitar sets he’d done. One of them was a stirring, almost hectic, ironic song about being idolized. The lyrics were a bit off putting, but the piano sank right into her and wrapped around her heart. The other was lighter in sound and his fingers were less frantic on the keys, caressing them more than hitting them. It was another ironic one, but less tongue in cheek and a little more defeated despite the bubbling sound of the music. 

It gave her some time to think. She decided, at the very least, she was glad she’d come to hear him play. No matter how crazy it was, she was glad she knew who 304 was, who Scanlan was. 

She didn’t stay long after his performance. During his whole time on stage she tried to come up with a convincing excuse to leave right away and all she thought was having to get up early. She felt silly for being so unsure about it when he didn’t question it for a moment. But did not want to have an even bigger discussion about their alter egos, at least not then. Then, in a move she was pretty proud of, she took a tiny notebook out of her bag and made him write his phone number down. 

As soon as she got out to her bike, just on the off chance insanity was swinging the other direction, she entered his number into her phone. 

304’s name predictably appeared. Pike still felt like she couldn't possibly be reading it right, but Scanlan's number was 304's number.

Pike gathered herself and drove home. She wasn’t sure of much in that moment—only that for sure she was going to kick Grog’s ass for not knowing Scanlan lived in the next door apartment block.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~*~
> 
> heyyyy, hope it was the satisfaction. just so we're clear, this is [the thing on scanlan's shirt](http://i0.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/original/000/372/824/49a.png). 
> 
> songs of note (scanlan's set list on the piano):  
> -his first, a pretty instrumental ["at night" by oscar sundberg](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g_Lde3GHays)  
> -the second was ["us" by regina spektor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fczPlmz-Vug), which has a fantastic piano section  
> -third was "all we ever knew" by the head and the heart, in honor of it being one of the main themes for tameila's [The Sun Always Rises](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10013741/chapters/22323065). here's a cute child doing [the piano cover](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mJ0759Yi0nM); here's [the original](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qPEAd9kSAbk). 
> 
> thanks again and always to all your wonderful comments. and to the encouragement and love from the scanclave discord chat. your support is immeasurable. <3


	9. wow this boy is born with singing heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little inspired by [this post](http://jabletown.tumblr.com/post/161435039963/shorthalt-shorthalt-critical-role-au-where)\-- apartment block vm modern au
> 
> Scanlan gets talked to and talked to and talked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy it's been a while and i've kind of forgot, like, how to do this. uh, this chapter is heavily insular. i have a feeling it's not very good but i'm not about to take another crack at it, since i've been slowly picking at it for 20 days lol. 
> 
> have a read
> 
>  
> 
> ~*~

“ _Move bitch! Get out the way! Get out the way bitch, get out the way!_ ”

The fourth alarm in Scanlan’s Increasing Priority Four Alarm Alarm System blared out of his phone, lying about three inches from his face. He sighed and considered how bad it would be if he pressed snooze for this one. He’d pressed snooze multiple times on each of the other alarms of cascading priority—the _Spooky Scary Skeletons_ remix, a song about two trucks having sex which was also a metaphor for America, and Dolly Parton’s working class masterpiece _9 to 5_. His usual snooze time was around a half an hour. This morning he’d been choosing snooze for about an hour and fifteen minutes now.

This was why he had four alarms, but he hadn’t needed the fourth alarm in a while. He wasn’t exactly sleeping. The bed, the pillows were indescribably welcoming. Every time he stretched a leg or shifted position the mattress cocooned him a little more. He had heavy dark drapes and no light was coming in. Where he was everything was soft and considerate. If he moved, if he committed to the world of awakeness, everything would be bright and sharp and very inconvenient. Judgmental, probably. 

“ _Oh no, the fight’s out. I’mma bout to punch your lights out! Get the fuck back, guard ya grill. There’s something wrong. We can’t stay still._ ” 

Scanlan sighed. As tempting as it was to just turn his phone off, he could not today. And now he’d spent his morning time pressing snooze instead of showering, eating, shaving, drinking coffee, and everything else he generally did to prepare for the world. 

Even though he was basically dreading this more than going to see his therapist, going to work this weekend, and getting in a car crash—it had to be done. He _had_ to go over to Sybil’s today. Among other things, he had to tell her he was going to quit his stupidly lucrative job at The Cloudtop and let her down again. 

Worse than that, potentially, Kaylie was now thirteen. It was her birthday. She was going away on a camping trip with one of her friends and her family for the weekend. She hadn’t even been a teenager for a half a day yet and she already wanted to spend her birthdays with other people. 

He stopped the alarm and forced his body to roll out of bed. 

He knew he should’ve showered and done some stretches for his knee. But the idea of either seemed insurmountable at the moment. He picked through some shirts on the floor for the one that smelled the cleanest, put on some nondescript pants, a cardigan that had been untouched all summer, and the one newsboy cap he’d had from the Ellington production of Newsies that always sat on the mannequin bust on his dresser. Hopefully, he looked passably hipster or like a weekend professor instead of just unwashed and too pressed for time to look for clothes. 

If he walked he could probably make it before Kaylie left for her trip, but not long before. He thought about it for a minute, but called an Uber instead. His brain flipped between his hesitation and what pitch and tone he’d have in his voice when he talked to Sybil about quitting his job. 

“Happy Bir—oh,” he said as soon as the door cracked open, but stopped when he realized it was Sybil. “Hi.” 

Sybil stepped aside and let him in with barely any hint of a frown, which was a pretty good start, actually. “You look like a hungover history professor.” 

He plucked at his cardigan. “I’m a man of many looks. I’m not hungover; I am very tired, though. Good morning. Where’s the teenager?” 

A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth and she hitched a thumb at the living room. Kaylie was sitting on the floor in front of the couch playing that creepy survivalist video game about nuclear winter. 

Scanlan sat on the couch, putting her present on his left so she wouldn’t see it immediately. “Hey, Kaylie-whaley.” 

“I don’t even have that toy whale anymore.” 

He was pretty sure that was a lie. He was pretty sure he saw Whaley, which Kaylie had declared adorably at age five that they were destined to be together forever because their names rhymed, stuffed in a box in a shelf in her closet a few months ago. But he ignored that. 

“Watcha doing?” 

“Ganking super mutants.” 

“That sounds important. You probably don’t want a birthday present.” 

“That is such a cheap tactic, Dad,” she said, but kept looking between him and the game, and started trying to look around his shoulder to see what he had. 

He squared his shoulders to her and tried to mash some buttons on her controller. “Oh look you’re being eaten by a super mutant. Magneto would be up in arms about this kind of anti-mutant propaganda.” 

“Da-ad! They’re not that kind of mutants.” 

“Wouldn’t it be cool if they were? Like, Gambit jumps out of the trees to steal your stockpile of protein bars or whatever it is you stockpile in this game.” He was still trying to push the joystick under her thumb. 

She paused the game instead of trying to put up with his meddling. “Gimme gimme. What’d you get me?” 

He thought about teasing her a little more, but he was actually really excited for this part. He pulled out long triangular case from behind him. 

Kaylie’s eyes immediately went wide. It wasn’t the traditional violin shape, but she undoubtedly knew what it was, not in small part due to the fact that Kaylie had been talking about one of these for at least a year now. 

“Dad,” she said softly, just staring between him and the case. 

“Open it!” He said, putting it directly in her hands. 

She slowly unzipped the case. Inside was a streamlined, hollow body black 4 string electric violin. Scanlan thought the lighter weight one might be good for a starter, even if it really wasn’t a starter electric that would cheap out in a few years. Subpar instruments were not suitable for his daughter. But the outline curve that suggested it’s past as a violin was pretty fucking cool looking. Scanlan figured that Kaylie agreed considering the next at least five sounds out of her body were just pitchless screeching. 

The next few sounds after that were various shouts of “Oh my god!” and “Dad!” 

Scanlan looked up to see Sybil leaning against the wall smiling, but also shaking her head. “That looks expensive.” 

“Not really,” he lied. Well, he supposed that depended on the context. In the context of quitting his job soon, it probably was on the expensive side. Sybil didn’t look like she believed that anyway, and she tended to want Kaylie to have grounding, not very-flamboyant-like-Scanlan things. Still, she didn’t look _angry_ about it. Scanlan added, “I have lots of connections. It was very reasonable.” 

Kaylie lifted it and the bow out of the case and started playing a few notes, before realizing without power it was just not as good violin. 

“This is so cool!” 

“I can hook you up with an amp t—“

“No,” Sybil corrected. “Not here. The neighbors will complain.”

Scanlan shook his head. “No, I can’t. My amp guy died.” He leaned in a little and fake whispered, “I’ll get her warmed up to it.” 

Without any notice and without putting her violin or bow down, Kaylie threw her arms around Scanlan for a hug. Kaylie had never really been the most demonstrative of children so it was a surprise every time. 

“I love it, Dad. Thank you!” 

He kissed her forehead and tousled her hair, after she pulled her arms away and got one of the violin pegs tangled in his hair for a second. “Alright!” He clapped his hands. “It’s time for practice!” 

Kaylie’s face fell a little. “But I’m going camping.” 

“Yeah, so we better get your practice in before you leave. Soon you’ll be going back to school and under the influence of fellow teenagers and that stupid music teacher there who thinks he knows anything about strings. He knows nothing about strings.” 

“I’m thinking about trying the trombone for Music this year.” 

Scanlan could feel his face contort in a weird way. “What, is that a joke?” 

Kaylie snorted. “I’m serious.” 

Scanlan turned to Sybil. “Is this real?” 

Sybil shrugged a shoulder. “She’s been talking about it.” 

“Kaylie, you know this is a strings and woodwinds family.” 

“You play the piano.” 

“I—Don’t—That hardly counts.” He looked to Sybil again for confirmation, but she just seemed to be enjoying the scene. “I mean, brass? You don’t expect me to buy you one of those too, do you?” 

Kaylie rolled her eyes. “Dad.” 

“Okay, I’ll buy you one. And probably many more. You can replace all your beautiful strings with big fart machines. Dranzel plays sax mostly, but he has lots of brass. I suppose you’ll have to be his daughter now.” 

Kaylie rolled her eyes harder. “I’m not going to stop playing violin. I just want to take a different instrument for class. I can’t believe you’re hassling me. You play like six different instruments.”

“Oh, well. It’s good to branch out, diversify your talents. Who’s gonna keep teaching you violin then?” 

Kaylie looked at him like he was stupid. “I’ve got you for that,” she said, the additional _dummy_ tag being only just barely unspoken. 

“Oh yeah,” he said, feeling both tightness and warmth in his chest. “I am better than your music teacher.” 

Kaylie nodded, and not in an exaggerated or sarcastic way. Only like he was stating the truth, not a joke. Which was, yeah, probably true, but not something he’d seriously considered before. 

After a few more prevaricating attempts to belay him—valiant efforts but really no match for his bluster— Scanlan wrangled Kaylie up for her violin lesson. She tried out her new electric violin a few times. Without amplification it was just a quieter and less resonant tool, so that didn’t last very long. They moved on to some alternative songs Kaylie had been working on during the summer, since she got so bored with classical standards.

For a few weeks they’d been doing Perlman’s rendition of _Reb Itzik’s Nign_ , which she’d been getting pretty good with. He accompanied on piano or with her second, cheaper practice fiddle, which was really not great sounding compared to his usual. It made him wince and feel guilty every time he played it. The other main song they were working on was a folk punk mix called _Malandrino_ by Gogol Bordello, which Scanlan had had to transcribe music for himself. It was a lot more Kaylie’s preference but the one she had more trouble with because the time signature changed so quickly. 

Kaylie only stopped and threatened to throw her fiddle out the window once due to the mindful breathing practice he picked up from therapy. Personally he hated it—the mindfulness part being irritating in equal parts from how wholesome and healthy it sounded and how he couldn’t fucking do it. But the slow practiced breathing helped, even if he couldn’t reach some state of zen peaceful awareness. It seemed to help Kaylie too.

Eventually, he went with Sybil to take Kaylie over to her friend Risa’s house. Scanlan was sort of shaken by the whole idea of Kaylie going away with other people. It was her first whole weekend staying with someone who wasn’t Juniper, Sybil, or Scanlan. But Risa’s parents, Kaito and Sana, were gross hiking, camping, sport utility parents with checklists for everything and, like, taught emergency wilderness training courses. So she was in good hands even if Scanlan hated it. 

Sybil seemed a bit nervous too. She went through the whole “call anytime if you want to come home” spiel three times. After too many hugs and kisses for a newly turned teenager to bear in front of her friend, Kaylie yelled “Bye!” as loud as possible and ran inside with Risa to pack their last bit of camping supplies. 

As they walked back, filled with dread, Scanlan weighed the idea of breaking the news to Sybil at her house or in a public place with witnesses and several exits. 

“Christ, you’re quiet today. What’s wrong?” 

Scanlan tried to feign dumb. He was usually pretty good that because he was usually pretty dumb. “I feel very much like I’ve been talking a lot. I even complimented Kaito’s lawn. Dads love that shit.” 

“Yes, even in a snit you manage to talk more than the average human.”

“I’m not in a snit.”

“A funk.”

“I’m not—I’m not in an anything. I’m fine.” 

“Okay. Fine.” 

There was a long silence as they continued to walk until the discordant beat of their out of step feet on the pavement and disturbing quietude in the air made Scanlan break. 

“Okay, fine, I’m in a funk. Or a pout. Or a panic, or whatever you want to say I’m in.” 

Sybil scoffed. “You haven’t changed in the entire fifteen years I’ve known you.”

“You’re not talking about how I still want to learn to play the sitar probably.” 

“You always try to pretend everything’s fine when it’s not.” 

“I’m sorry. I’m nervous. I need to talk to you about something you won’t like.” 

She didn’t say anything, but did her sharp eyebrow thing that meant either “Stop talking” or “Explain yourself” depending on the situation. 

Scanlan took a deep breath, exhaled, and waited until the voice of his therapist saying “ _When your heart slows, your mind slows_ ” disappeared. 

“I need to quit The Cloudtop.” 

Sybil stopped hard in the middle of the sidewalk. Her eyes were wide. “That is not what I was expecting.” 

“Yeah, I did not finesse that at all. Look, before you get too angry. I really don’t think I can be there. I know I’ve never gotten better tips, which has been really helpful after rehab. I wish it could be more helpful for a few more months. But I was with… some friends, uh… and I found out they were dealing at the club. I need to, to not be there for that. I don’t think I can handle it. It’s not like I didn’t think people who work at a club like that wouldn’t be selling or drugs weren’t plenty available, but it was fine when I didn’t know who or where. I’m sorry, Sybs. I’m sorry. I can’t stay there with that… I want to be better. I know you’re angry and I am sorry I have to put you through more shit, but whatever I have to do I’m not going to stop supporting you and Kaylie. But I have to go. I can’t stay there.”

The longer he talked the more it felt like he had to pull a single rope of intestine out of his stomach. 

“Scanlan,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s good! I’m not angry!” 

“You’re not?” 

“Scanlan, that’s—that’s fucking wonderful.”

“It is? Me losing one of my best paying jobs ever is good?” 

She made a kind of frustrated sound. “How is it you can be so clever about some things and so daft about others? You’re making a good decision for yourself, you fuck. Instead of maybe breaking down and falling into using again, you’re just cutting it out of your life. That’s great! Do you not understand how great that is?” 

“No, I do, I just,” Scanlan looked down at his shoes and all around the street, anywhere but Sybil. He knew it was the right decision, but it still felt he was setting up about twenty more obstacles down the line. It was right, but it felt anything but freeing. “I’ve got to find a new job. It’s a whole thing.” 

Sybil shook her head. “That’s fine. That’s nothing.” 

“It’s not nothing.” 

“It’s cake compared to what we’ve been through.” 

Yeah, she was probably right. That didn’t feel any better know that he was the biggest cause of strife in this family. He was still causing trouble, just not as much. 

Sybil looked for a moment like she was going to hug him, but she stopped short, only reaching out to squeeze his arm. It would have been a reassuring gesture if they weren’t both thinking about the last time they hugged—it was probably around the time they slept together before Scanlan went into rehab. He felt even worse that he really wanted a hug.  
They departed ways at Sybil’s door. She invited him in for lunch, which was surprisingly magnanimous of her. He couldn’t think of any more words to say, though, so it would only turn lunch into a dead end stop with sandwiches. Instead he declined, and before he left, she said, “I’m proud of you, Scanlan.” 

He could barely react to it and made sure to walk away without looking back at the house. In some ways, he’d been wanting to hear something like that for a long time, but all he felt was weight. All he felt was fear that he was setting up people to knock them down again, not any kind of enjoyment or satisfaction. He was an ungrateful piece of shit. 

After he went back to his apartment, he collapsed on the bed and didn’t move for hours. He fucked around on the internet, ignored a call from his mother because he couldn’t fathom the idea of having to put up an act, and occasionally opened up his chat thread with 202 just to feel shittier. When work started to loom on the horizon he contemplated just staying there, waiting to be fired instead, but he really needed not to be fired. So he went in and gave his notice, making up some bullshit about needing to get another place closer to his daughter. 

No sense of relief came after he quit either. He thought after he told the owner he’d feel lighter. All he felt was the looming joblessness, how he wouldn’t be able to give Kaylie a better violin and maybe not even a stupid trombone, Kaylie’s college fund, and his mother’s loan debt. 

It was a rough weekend to kick off his two weeks’ notice. The only luck he had was in a mutual avoidance pact between himself, Jaime, and Erica. Everything else was shit. He was exhausted and had difficulty summoning any affability. One guy almost started a fight with him after some dumb, glib comment. All the music seemed louder and more annoying than before. When he told Grog he was quitting, he could tell he was upset, but then Grog avoided him for the rest of the weekend. 

On Sunday night, maybe because his bingefest on feeling sorry for himself had turned into a being a little pissed off about everything buffet, he kept poking Grog until he agreed to go to the Taco Barn with him after work. 

Grog didn’t say much on the way there, acting like nothing was wrong even though he was clearly upset. So after Grog got his extra beef burrito and Scanlan got his chicken tacos, he didn’t waste any time. He told Grog about what he found out at Jaime and Erica’s, about his past time in rehab, about why he was really leaving. 

Grog sat silently for a moment, holding a half-eaten burrito. “Oh. So, like, you can’t even be around drugs?” 

Scanlan let out a shaky laugh. “I, uh, don’t have a great track record of just saying no. It’s better, right now at least, if I just don’t put myself in a position where I get to say yes at all.” 

Grog made an uneasy thinking face. “Can you drink? Cause, you know, you do. We have a shot every night. Should we not? You’re leaving now, so, should we not have? Done that?” 

“I do drink more than I should. Or I did, at the club. It’s easy. People buy you drinks. It’s just there. But I don’t… I don’t know why but I don’t ever _need_ to drink like I _need_ to get high. It’s just easier to decide to make stupid decisions when I’m drunk. It’s fine, Grog. We can still do our end of the night shots until I go.” 

Grog nodded, obviously relieved.

They talked a little while longer. While Grog didn’t ask, Scanlan told him as earnestly as he could that he wanted to hang out after Scanlan left The Cloudtop. And when they decided to call it quits, Scanlan was actually feeling a slight lessening of tension weighing somewhere between his shoulders and his mind, so he took Grog up on his offer to drive him home. 

When he told Grog his address, Grog stared at him from the driver’s seat with wide eyes. “Shut. Up.” 

“Uhhh, okay, I guess.” 

“You live at Emon Towers?” 

“Yeah.” 

Grog made several aborted gaspy sounds of audacity. “I live at Emon Towers!” he shouted in the small enclosed space at a very late time of night, making it hard for Scanlan to understand what was really going on. 

“Wait. How?” 

Grog waved his hand around wildly, rocking his SUV slightly. “I don’t know!” 

“You live at Emon Towers.” 

Grog nodded vehemently. 

There was a slow, ticking countdown to realization cranking in Scanlan’s head. Grog lived at his complex, which was an insane coincidence. Pike was Grog’s roommate. Pike lived in the same complex. It was… strange information to hear. It wasn’t a huge complex. There were maybe twenty apartments in each building. 

“Um, do you live in the 300 building?” 

“No, in 200. Do you live in 200?” 

“No,” Scanlan said cautiously. “300.” But all he was thinking was _202? 202. 202 though, because Pike is a paramedic. 202 is a paramedic. 202._

Grog grinned at him and shook his shoulder. “Dude!” 

Dude, indeed. 

This sudden, fucking unlikely, realization launched Grog into an energized story about how Grog and Pike left their last apartment, a total hole on top of a dive bar they thought would be cool as 19 year olds, but stopped being fun the second time they were robbed. Scanlan was a little inattentive during it, but on the plus side, he was a little too distracted to be worried very much about Grog’s car getting t-boned by a drunk driver. His distraction was a little more filled with glimpses of conversations with Pike and notes from 202, trying to match up story and tone. 

202 hadn’t sent any word since he sent his last letter, confessing everything about why he probably shouldn’t be trusted. But he _had_ talked to Pike and in his, potentially very biased, memory that conversation had gone great. She hadn’t called him since, but it hadn’t been long enough he was sweating it. 

Well, not before that moment. Because now, instead of just blowing it with one person, he’d now ruined two potential relationships that had always actually just been one. 

It was still a little confusing. 

He invited Grog back up to his place for a beer—marking the first time in Scanlan’s life he’d extended that offer after 3 AM to someone without the intention of boning them. Pushing that option firmly to the back of his head, mostly because he was just too fucking tired and not necessarily because he needed to stop thinking that he could have sex with anyone at any given moment, he just handed him a beer and showed Grog around. When Grog got a good look at all the guitars, violins, ukuleles, keyboards, and the piano, a knowing look washed over his face. 

“You’re the guy who—“ 

Scanlan wondered if he knew about the letters, or if it would be a whole thing to admit to them. “Who plays all the music, yeah. Sorry about that.” 

Grog shrugged graciously. “It’s fine, dude.” 

It turned out Grog’s favorite things where the purple chair shaped like a hand and the theremin, which he’d never seen or heard of before. They wound up making scifi noises for a good twenty minutes and getting very quickly buzzed. Grog also liked the ukuleles because they were tiny guitars and he showed him how to play two chords on it. And he thought the framed poster of Kate Bush in the hallway, despite it being next to a framed poster of Prince, had been a portrait of Scanlan’s mom— Scanlan made a mental note to tell Juniper that as soon as possible; she’d lose her goddamn mind. 

Since Grog apparently had the leisure of walking home from Scanlan’s in less than a minute, they had a few more beers, starting _Parks and Recreation_ on Netflix, and falling asleep  
on the couch. 

In the morning, probably due to some residual habit of treating anyone who slept in his apartment like a hook-up, Scanlan walked Grog out of the building. It would have been nothing if Kima hadn’t been coming back into the building from a run at the same time. She clearly lingered in the lobby. 

When he turned back into the building, Kima was just waiting by the mailboxes with a leer. “So you finally went gay, Levy. I’m proud, if a little concerned. You should probably have taken baby steps before climbing bear mountain though. I mean… he’s a big ‘un.” 

Scanlan sighed. “First of all, I popped that cherry in during a showing of _Troy_ in high school. In theaters. Making it, shockingly, the gayest ever moment of _Troy_ as well as the gayest moment of my life, since I’ve never after sucked a guy’s dick with Brad Pitt wearing leather in the background. So there’s nothing _finally_ about my sexuality. Second, that was just a bro. A platonic pal, who just coincidentally looks like a Grindr jackpot.” 

Kima laughed. “You walk all your bros out like a gentleman? It’s more than you do for all the women you bring back.” 

“I don’t actually have a lot of bros. I think he might be the only one. And I—wait, what? All the—I don’t bring back women. I’ve never brought back women here. Well, okay, two. But that was a while ago. I’ve been very good about that.” 

Kima looked at him suspiciously. “No way. There’s that angry looking blonde with a kid. You’ve got that side piece with the pretty, dark hair.”

“Dark hair?” 

“Yeah, curly dark hair. Real petite.” Kima frowned. “She’s here a lot. Ringing any bells.” 

Scanlan tried to hold back a gag. “Good god, Kima, that’s my mom, not my side—ugh, no I can’t even say it. That’s my beloved mother, you monster.” 

“What? No! She’s, like… no! She’s too… She’s hot!”

“Well, thanks? I guess? You didn’t think the older woman who also is short and skinny and also has dark, curly hair and also has big brown eyes and also looks a little like me couldn’t possibly be related to me and must be a hollaback girl? Kima. That’s my mother.” 

There was a long pause, before Kima cleared her throat. “In my defense, she looks _really_ good for her age.” 

“Okay, okay, that’s enough.” 

There was another long pause while Kima drained the water bottle that had been velcro’d to her waist. He took the pause to check his mailbox, but when he went near it he found he didn’t want to look inside. He didn’t know which was the scarier prospect—not finding anything from 202, or knowing what she said. 

“I’m sorry I called your mom a side piece.” 

Scanlan nodded begrudgingly. “Thanks.” 

“What about that pretty, angry blonde though? She’s not your sister is she?” 

“She’s just—Okay, she is my babymama. You got me there.” 

Kima looked way too smug about being right that Scanlan was indeed a skank. 

“I’m not completely skeevy, you know,” Scanlan said in weak defense of his frequently a little bit too skeevy character. 

“You did hit on me when you moved in here. And then also Allie.” 

“I was in a weird place psychologically!” Scanlan said, as if he wouldn’t have done the same thing if he were healthier. He was trying to be better, but, old habits. “But yeah, sorry I hit on you. And your fiancée.” 

“Apology accepted.” Kima opened the door from the lobby and waited for Scanlan to follow through. “So wait, that’s your kid?” 

Scanlan nodded, following her up the steps. “Her name’s Kaylie. She just turned thirteen Friday. She’s awesome.” 

He could see Kima do the mental math of trying to figure out how he might be. He saw that face whenever he or Sybil had to introduce Kaylie to new people. People’s surprise was becoming less noticeable as Sybil and Scanlan aged, and, thank fuck, it had been years since someone had said _babies having babies_ in front of him. 

“It’s weird that you have a daughter. A teenage daughter.”

Scanlan, at his core, did not disagree. It still irritated him to hear it. Kima didn’t really know anything about him, if he was a good or bad dad. It still forced him to agree that it was pretty absurd he was supposed to be somebody’s caretaker, and that Sybil didn’t even trust him with that. After all she could go on a camping trip with a different family, but even after seven months at his new apartment the spare bedroom was still just a spare bedroom, not Kaylie’s room. 

Scanlan forced a laugh. “Yeah. Who would’ve thought?” 

When he got back home, he closed the door behind him and leaned against the door. He felt done with being out there for a while.

For the rest of the week, he mostly didn’t leave the apartment. He had a few commercial pieces to write. He only emailed one in for completion, though. Every time he started putting down notes, it felt like he was writing gibberish. All his compositions sounded jarring and disjointed. And whenever he listened to something for inspiration he only felt jealous of the cohesion and completion. He looked through older notebooks at songs he’d sold to see what worked about them, but he didn’t understand what he was doing wrong, only that it wasn’t working the way he wanted. 

A few other things got dropped along the way. He didn’t do much towards his job search. He skipped another night at The Sun Tree he’d wanted to play. He also rescheduled his therapy session. And for the first time in his life, he ordered groceries online because he really, really, really didn’t want to pretend to be a more affable, complete version of himself and couldn’t tolerate the idea of letting people see whatever this one was. 

His mother and Kaylie called a few times, but he really only felt capable of speaking with Kaylie, who told him about her trip. She and Risa tried to smuggle a raccoon back for a pet before Risa’s parents caught them, but that had been about the height of excitement for the weekend. On Wednesday, he made her play a practice piece over the phone, _Nocturne in C Sharp Minor_ , mostly because he just wanted to hear something. Kaylie definitely thought his request was weird, but complied anyway. His fingertips itched to join in on the piano, but he didn’t let go of the phone. She definitely used the phone as an excuse to not play as precisely and flub the high C at the end. It still felt good to hear. 

It was sort of a timeless blur until Thursday morning. 

He was scratching out lines of music when the door to his apartment was thrown open. His mother was a fast, angry cloud of hair and gym bags. She didn’t so much as throw her bags on the floor as let them fall off her in her bee line for Scanlan on his piano bench. She tilted his head back forcefully and looked into his eyes. 

“Ahh—Ma, what—“ She forced his eyelid back with her thumb. “Ow! What’s with the ambush?” 

She wrenched his hand off the table and turned his wrist to see the inside of his arm. Of course he knew what she was doing, but he didn’t know why. Still when she reached for the other arm he just showed her. His heart was pounding and a reactionary flood of guilt rushed through him even though he knew he hadn’t taken anything. 

“Mom, I’m clean. What’s going on? What’s wrong?” 

Satisfied there was no obvious evidence of drug use on him, she let out a deep sigh. “’What’s wrong?’ Scanlan, where have you been?” 

“Here! I haven’t left the apartment all week. What’s going on?”

“Why the fuck haven’t you answered my calls? I’ve been calling and calling. I was worried sick!” 

He reached for his phone even though his brain was coming up with the number of times recently he dodged his mother’s calls. It was a lot more than he’d realized while it had happened. 

“I, uh, texted you earlier,” he said weakly, scrolling to his phone for the receipt. It had been on Tuesday, and then earlier last Friday. Not much, just one line replies. Both Juniper and Scanlan were natural talkers, so that would definitely be perceived as a bad sign. “Oh shit.” 

“You can’t just fall off the face of the earth, Scanlan! Not anymore. The only reason I didn’t come over earlier was because Sybil said not to worry, that you were fine on Friday, that at least she and Kaylie had seen you. Not that I’d know because you didn’t plan anything with me for my granddaughter’s thirteenth birthday. You’ve barely spoken to me for two weeks. You just can’t do that anymore, Scanlan! Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? The last time you disappeared you could’ve died!” 

Scanlan stood up and put his hands on her shoulders, not totally sure if he should just hug her. There was no sign of stopping in her spiel. “Mama, I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t go anywhere. I’ve been right here. But you’re right I should’ve talked to you.”

Now that he’d interrupted the charge she’d entered the apartment with, she was starting to look teary-eyed, and her hands were shaking. “You scare me when you just stop telling me things. It’s like the last time, you— You shut me out right before you overdosed.” 

“I promise this isn’t like that. I’m so sorry I scared you. I’ve been an asshole. I’ve just been sulking. I didn’t want to see anyone. I didn’t even realize I’d done it so well.” Scanlan pulled her in towards his chest and after a second her arms slid around him too. He kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry, Mom.” 

After they hugged, Juniper pulled back, sniffed, and looked at the messy pile of papers and food debris around the piano and nearby table. “Well, sulking looks about right. It smells about right, too.” 

Scanlan sniffed his own shirt and it was not fresh. “Oops. That got a bit away from me.” 

“So has shaving, I see.”

“I can have facial hair whenever I want.”

“That doesn’t look like a choice. That’s a depression beard.” She sat down on the piano bench and looked at Scanlan expectantly until he sat next to her. “So. Why are you sulking? What happened?” 

It was shocking, given that two minutes ago he hadn’t wanted to talk to or see anyone, how easily he gave up everything that had been bothering him. It was like just being asked turned on a faucet of complaints. Or maybe it was just because it was Juniper, who he had a great deal of difficulty refusing anything. Which was, in retrospect, probably why he subconsciously stopped talking to her, so he wouldn’t have to fold at the first opportunity. 

Scanlan could just visualize his therapist tsking him from her chair, though she had never actually tsked him before. Dr. Aouni just had perfectly coiffed gray hair, and dark gray-blue eyes, almost purple and very worldly wise, that seemed to suggest she had seen his game before and knew it wouldn’t work. He could just feel her talk about _self-sabotage_ waiting for him when he saw her next. 

Because he was, at heart, a remorseless mama’s boy, he confessed everything in a quick, continuous stream. About his letters with 202, about Jaime and Erica and leaving The Cloudtop, his attempts to perform at The Sun Tree, and then about Pike and her being 202. About the absurdly low lows of creating music lately. About the constant backdrop for everything being his guilt about fucking everything up in the past and being terrified of fucking everything up in the future. 

When he stopped, Juniper reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind his ear. “Oh, chickadee. It’s like you have only have a high and low, and nothing in between.” During his whole speech, she had looked through a few compositions he’d written and discarded. She picked up one of them and turned it to him. “There’s nothing wrong with this. You keep telling me you can’t make anything anymore. This is good, baby. It’s like, when you’re feeling yourself, no one can tell you can do anything wrong. And when you’re not, nothing is good.” 

Scanlan wanted to argue, but he couldn’t. 

Juniper smiled wanly. “As for the writing, just hold onto these. Put them away for now, if you can’t bear to look at them. But go back and look at them in a few weeks or months when you’ve forgotten about the details. I bet you won’t hate them as much.” 

“What am I gonna do about work? I mean, fine, you think this block, or whatever, will go away. I’ve got to work in the meantime. I’ve either got to get another bartending gig and be on my game all the time, or I’ve got to get over this fast and sell some work. I suppose I could try to get some session gigs again. Just play background guitar for kids who think they’re gonna be rockstars.” 

“You could. Are lessons still out of the question?” 

Scanlan shrugged awkwardly. He had been giving a lot of lessons before he went off the rails in the last year. “The money doesn’t exactly fly in with teaching.” 

“But you are good at it. And I bet a lot of your old clients would take you back.” 

“I don’t know. That’s the problem. I don’t know how to make decisions anymore. I’ve made too many dumb ones to know what’s a good or bad idea anymore.” 

Juniper shook her head. “You’re doing better than you think, chickadee, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now. I’m so proud of you for walking away from your sex friends.” 

Scanlan was torn between feeling delighted by her praise and a gut rejection of hearing his mother say the words _sex friends_. All he could do was laugh and protest with, “Mo-om!” 

“Well I didn’t want to say fuck buddy in front of my son.” 

Scanlan laughed and groaned. “Mom, please. It’s friends with bennies. God, I just realized I sound like Kaylie when she’s embarrassed by me. I hope she never says friends with bennies to me.” 

A wry smile crossed her lips. “The universal, yet futile hope of every generation of parents.” 

“I’m sorry. But Kaylie is a lot better behaved child than me. I’m sorry about that too.” 

Juniper picked up his hand and ran her thumb over a little scar he’d gotten when he was nine, when a piano lid slipped off its prop and fell on his fingers. “I’ve always thought you’re worth the trouble.”

They talked a while longer, mostly about Kaylie and the current musical Juniper was working. They played some duets on the piano; it was something they hadn’t done since before his car accident. It was the most fun he’d had at the piano in recent memory, even if it was some sloppy four-handed renditions of West Side Story numbers. He suspected she had known that.

After he walked her out of the building, he faced what he’d been dreading. 

The mailbox. 

Since he hadn’t been checking it the whole week, it was stuffed with letters and flyers, most of it junk. Even still it didn’t take long to find a folded piece of letter paper with 304 written on the front. The paper was some kind of cheap themed stationary with a bulldog in the upper left corner. Scanlan contemplated waiting to read, but figured if he waited at all, he’d wait months. So he opened it in the lobby.

>   
>  304, 
> 
> I’ve read over your last letter a lot. And started my own in response, probably a lot more. I have a lot of thoughts and a lot of opinions and a lot I want to say to you. 
> 
> But you’re right about the distance. We’re far away from ourselves and each other in these letters. And besides, I’m no good at writing anyway. The only way I can tell you all I want to tell you is by saying it, face to face. 
> 
> I want to meet you, for real, as a real person. 
> 
> You said you had to put the ball in my court. Well, now it’s back in yours. Text me when you want to decide what would be a good time and place to talk. 
> 
> Love,  
>  202

Scanlan, and all his mail, retreated back to his apartment. He hadn’t made any sort of flash decision or judgment from 202’s letter. And he was thinking that he would probably sit on a response for several days, maybe until after he left The Cloudtop to get back to her. For several reasons—his own fear, a small petty urge to give her a bit of the same anxiety he’d felt since he wrote her—that seemed like the most likely course.

Except as soon as he set his mail down on the table, his phone buzzed with a text. 

From 202, Pike, it read, _it’s good to hear music again_. 

Before he could let himself stall any longer, he hit reply. _Monday night? At the sun tree. If you’re not working._

Immediately, she came back with, _what time?_

_7 is good?_

It took slightly longer, but she responded in possibly the most bone-chilling, confusing way she could. He wondered if she had a quiet sadistic side, because he couldn’t think of any other reason a person in their circumstances would send an _it’s a date_ to loom over him the whole weekend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~*~
> 
> alright, so that happened. i finally updated. hopefully you cats dug it.
> 
> i wanted to note here if anyone has or wants to make fanart for this fic, please let me know so i can link it up here for everyone to see. i remember getting a few people telling me that, but i've lost track of who. i am actually six raccoons in a trenchcoat so my organizational skills amount to putting different things in different piles and hoping for the best. (and i'm still reeling a bit from losing my last pile of story notes so thank you for bearing with me.) 
> 
> songs of note:  
> -alarms of cascading importance-- [spooky scary remix](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q6-ZGAGcJrk), [two trucks](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cmYC_LUZux4) by lemon demon, [9 to 5](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DaERHs8Q93E), [move bitch](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cEuU64Zt4B0)  
> -[Reb Itzik’s Nign](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7m898LEzB3Q) by Itzak Perlman and The Klezmatics  
> -[Malandrino](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z1_nje5AYCY) by Gogol Bordello  
> -this picture of [Kate Bush](https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51Dnobp8bnL.jpg)  
> -this picture of [Prince](http://www.soundstagedirect.com/media/ss_size1/prince_lovesexy.jpg)  
> -Chopin's [Nocturne in C Sharp Minor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T7k2pmKUXxI), thanks again to birds_and_words for giving me actual music knowledge  
> -just for example, [Tonight from West Side Story](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5_QffCZs-bg), though they probably would have done a medley
> 
> and as always, thank you thank you thank you for all your life sustaining comments and support. i've never had the kind of dialog with any fic as i've had with you people, and i feel so blessed and privileged that so many of you are hanging in for all these updates. your comments are invaluable. <3 <3 <3


	10. the blue canary in the other building

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little inspired by [this post](http://jabletown.tumblr.com/post/161435039963/shorthalt-shorthalt-critical-role-au-where)\-- apartment block vm modern au
> 
> Pike is interrupted preparing for not-a-date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> helllooooo i am updating not right before i go to sleep for once. i started this chapter over more than once and i think? it's mostly consistent in timeline and info revealed? i hope. and i have a [spotify playlist with all the original versions of songs mentioned or used in my thoughts for this fic so far](https://open.spotify.com/user/1227521501/playlist/3B3wRK6ZLG4AWOpXkiZIcc), if you care to listen to something like that. 
> 
> i can't think of any particular warnings that i haven't already tagged for, so please read and enjoy.
> 
> ~*~

The return of a quiet Saturday morning brunch softened the edges of Pike’s worry, but it didn’t last long. There was a somewhat larger group—Vax brought Gilmore along, and Pike managed to get Grog motivated early enough to be freshly showered but still bleary-eyed when the food was finishing—so they moved the table by the porch to give a little room. 

Around the time the hash browns were getting crispy, violin started emanating from across the lawn, followed shortly by a second one. The flow of music stopped and started in short bars, sometimes with obvious mistakes. By the time all the food was done and the table was set, it was clear there were two violins at work, accompanied by someone else on piano. Now Pike knew it was Scanlan practicing with his daughter, but she didn’t know where the third set of hands was coming. 

Vex poured orange juice and eyed Pike very much the way a hunter looks at prey. “Sounds like there’s a whole band at 304 today. Pike, is 304 starting a band? Did he tell in your many private conversations if he’s starting a band?” 

“I don’t know,” she said, not looking at Vex’s face directly. “I’m sure he knows people. Other musicians.” 

Vex’s eyes narrowed. “Are you not talking to him anymore? Did he say something weird?” 

“No. I mean, yeah I’m talking to him. I just texted him on Thursday.” That was true, but Pike felt very close to lying. She knew at some point trying to keep 304 a secret would get her into tricky spots. 

Vex looked like she knew Pike was keeping a secret somehow. Strangely, so did Grog. Feeling a bit guilty, she added, “Well, I think he’s probably having a practice session with his daughter. She also plays the violin.” 

That got a surprised look from everyone but Grog. That definitely made her nervous. Grog knew that she was talking to 304, but not about what. What if Grog knew 304 was Scanlan? What if Grog told Scanlan she knew Scanlan was 304? 

“He’s got kids?” Vax said.

“One kid. I don’t know who’s playing the piano.” 

“How old is he?” Vex looked out the window even though there’s no way she’d be able to tell from that. 

“I don’t know,” Pike said, even though she’d definitely thought about it several times before she found out 304 was Scanlan. And even now she wondered, because she’d thought Scanlan looked about her age, but she knew 304’s daughter was 12. “Does it matter?” 

“Well, it matters a little if he’s got, say, an adult daughter. What if she’s close to your age? What if he’s divorced?” 

“What if he is?” Vax said, not one to miss a chance to argue with his sister. 

Vex rolled her eyes. “I’m not saying that’s a dealbreaker, but she needs to know these things if she’s going to date him.” 

Vax said, “She’s not dating him.” 

Grog, in a quiet, sassy voice piped up. “You’re going on a date Monday, aren’t you?” 

“I’m not dating him!” Pike said, a little more forcefully and high-pitched than necessary. “We’re not dating and he’s not—His daughter is twelve and he’s in his thirties I think and we’re just meeting up to talk and I don’t want to talk about it anymore, thank you very much.” 

Everyone quietly agreed to let it go, so she should’ve just said nothing. But she didn’t, because her mouth is dumb. 

“Wait,” she said to Grog, “how did you know I’m meeting him on Monday?” 

“Scanlan told me at work.” 

Vex’s brow wrinkled and for a second Pike hoped that that she had forgotten, but a look of clarity washed over her face. “Scanlan from The Cloud Top? The guy who ran off to have a threesome? What does he have to do with it?” 

Panic hit Grog’s face, realizing he’d done something he shouldn’t, and he looked to Pike for direction. Pike sighed. 

“Scanlan is 304,” she said. “The guy in 304 is actually, as it turns out, Grog’s friend at work.” 

Vex doubled down on her surprised eyebrows. “The guy who ran off in the middle of flirting with you to go have a threesome? That’s who you’re going on a date with Monday night?” 

Pike wanted to object, but she supposed that’s actually what had happened that night. It certainly didn’t feel that way, now that finally, in her mind, 304 and Scanlan were just starting to merge into the same person. 

“To be fair, we did not know we were each other at that time.” 

“What,” Vex spat. 

“We didn’t know we lived in the same place. Or that we were writing to each other. Because we used our apartment numbers instead of names.” 

Gilmore said to Vax, as an aside but totally in hearing of everyone else. “I’m so confused right now.” Vax only nodded in agreement. 

Vex frowned. “I don’t approve of him. He’s not good enough for you.” 

Pike’s fork made a very obnoxious, loud squeak on her plate. “You don’t know anything about him, but also, more importantly at the moment, _we’re not dating_.” 

Vex hummed and started paying attention to her food again. “Well, I _do_ know he flirted with you at the bar and left to go have a threesome, which, if you were to ever consider it, is a big negative checkmark in the dating possibility column, even if he didn’t know you were you.” 

“Um,” Gilmore said, clearing his throat. “Is this a bad or good time to mention I know the band he used to be in?” 

“You listened to Burt and the Reynolds too?” Pike said, feeling a little like her life was actually much smaller than she thought it was. 

“Er, no. The Golden Grin. They used to play regularly at Maximillian’s. They still do, actually, but he isn’t the front man anymore. I never met him or anything, but I recognized him when he moved here. Scanlan. He’s good. But of course, you can hear that.” Gilmore motioned over his shoulder, out the balcony. 

A clear and deep melody filled in the silence as an example. 

Pike sighed. Between Kash and Grog and now Gilmore knowing about Scanlan, she wondered how many ways she could have actually met him as something other than 304. Would she have liked Scanlan if she just met him as she had that night at The Cloud Top? How much would that change how she thought about him? It made her think of his letter where he’d said that in writing to each other they weren’t totally being who they really were. But maybe, she thought, the reverse was true too. In letters they were too polished, but maybe in person they weren’t as revealing. 

That part, where those two things were almost meeting in the middle but not quite yet, had been mulling around in her mind for weeks now. The idea of sitting around with these thoughts until Monday reminded her of times when she’d had to wear sweaty workout clothes longer than absolutely necessary. 

Conversation turned to other topics, mostly due to Pike’s obstinacy in willing to reveal more about 304 anymore. Also by asking Vex how things were going with Percy, which she apparently did not want to talk about either and mutual impasse formed. Gilmore saved them with some anecdotes about some customers from his shop, and the difficulty of getting antiques out of customs. 

Pike tried not to pay attention to the music in the background, that, as it progressed, was more and more clearly what she imagined a training session to sound like. There were lots of short pieces of playing, followed by another violin doing the same thing, them joining in together, and then playing single parts again. 

She did pay attention enough to notice when the music quieted down significantly and she proposed they watch something on Netflix. 

Just when they settled into the plot twist about the murder witness’s relationship to the victim on SVU, there was a knock on the door, not a buzz. Grog was snoring, so Pike got up. 

Outside the door was a small, even smaller than Pike, smiling woman with dark, curly hair with dark laughing eyes. Next to her was a sullen-looking tween who was actually a bit taller than the woman, but had more or less the same features, even though her hair was straighter and lighter. Pike had no idea who they were, but they still looked vaguely familiar, which she supposed was not strange, since they were inside the apartment building. 

Before she could say anything, the older woman spoke up. “I’m so sorry to bother you, miss, but I accidentally locked us out of my apartment.” 

“Oh, do you need to get a hold of the super?” 

The woman put her hand out placatingly. “No, no, I’ve got that taken care of. My son is coming with a spare key. I was just wondering if you could let the kiddo use your bathroom for a minute. She’s gotta, you know, go.”

The young girl’s cheeks reddened. She scowled at her mother, but sighed and nodded.

“Oh, sure, sure. Come on in.” 

Pike pointed down the hallway where the restroom was. The girl walked quickly past her without a word, looking very embarrassed. 

The other woman frowned in a smiley, what-can-you-do way. “So sorry about the intrusion.” She also looked towards everyone else on the couches watching Law & Order. Vex and Gilmore looked over, but they only muttered reassurances, waving it off and going back to the television. Grog snored louder. 

Pike shrugged. “Hey, when nature calls.” 

The woman laughed louder than Pike thought was necessary, and stood still at the edge of the living room but looked around at everything in sight. 

“Would you like some water? Or coffee?” Pike said. 

“Oh, a glass of water would be nice. That’s very polite of you.” 

“Um, okay.” 

The kitchen was technically speaking, not a totally separate entity from the living room. It was a very open apartment, aside from the bedrooms and bathroom, and there was no place to not see everything else. Still, Pike felt a little weird that the woman followed her into it, while still she still curiously looked around the apartment. 

The woman took a sip of water when it was handed to her, and watched Pike over the glass while she did. There was a very bright, sharp look to her eyes that made Pike feel like she was missing some important information. 

“Thank you. You have a very kind face. You’re very pretty.” 

“Thanks,” Pike said uncertainly. 

“How long have you lived in this building?” 

“Five years, I think. How about you? I don’t think I’ve seen you around much.” 

“Oh not long,” she said with a wave. “You’re pretty settled here. What do you do for a living? Do you plan on living here much longer?” 

“Umm,” was all Pike could think for a while. “I guess, yeah. I’m a paramedic.” 

“My goodness,” she said without much surprise in her voice. “That sounds very intense. Do you have any significant other that helps you through such a stressful and rigorous job?” 

Very confused if this woman was interested in her and going about it in the worst way possible, Pike eked out a fairly confused sounding, “No.” 

The woman nodded and looked around at the kitchen again. “You must be very busy as a paramedic.” 

Feeling as though that was actually some kind of inquiry, Pike said, “Sure, I guess. It’s long hours. What, uh, do you do?” 

A sudden flash of annoyance appeared and disappeared on her face, but she smiled and said. “I work at the Lindstrom theater.” 

“Oh, that’s interesting.” Recognition unearthed some part of her brain. “Is that where I recognize you from? Didn’t I see you in a play there?” 

She waved that off dismissively again. “Oh, I don’t act very much anymore. So, do you go to see plays very often? Do you like the arts? Are you a music fan?” 

Pike faltered and “Umm”ed again trying to get a read on this bizarre conversation, when thankfully the toilet flushed and the young girl walked out of the hallway, glaring at her mother again. She crossed her arms and stood expectantly next to them. 

“Can we go now?” 

Despite desperately wanting not to talk to talk to this woman any longer, Pike said, “You could wait here until your son gets here.” 

The woman looked confused for a second, but then shook her head and immediately started backing towards the door with the young girl. “No, that’s fine. I think we should be going now. Thank you so much. Sorry again for the trouble.” 

“No trouble,” Pike said hesitantly, showing them out. 

Vex, Vax, and Gilmore were looking over the back of the couch when Pike closed the door behind them. 

“That was weird,” Vex said. “I’ve never seen them around here.” 

Gilmore had a strange, doubtful expression on his face. “Um, I have. But not in this building. I don’t think she lives here. I’ve only seen that woman around here with your friend in 304.” 

Vex, instantly alert, slapped Gilmore’s shoulder. “What? What!” 

Gilmore looked at Pike apologetically. “I mean, I’ve seen them bring groceries in together.” 

Vax piped up in a confused voice. “Why would they come over to this building if she stays over at 304?”

“Wait, so, like, is she his girlfriend?” 

“I don’t know. I didn’t get that vibe? I mean, honestly, they look related.” 

That could also have explained the sense of familiarity. They weren’t, like, Vex and Vax, but there was definitely a sibling-esque resemblance going on between Scanlan and the woman who’d just asking too many questions about Pike. She imagined if Scanlan let his hair grow out for a decade it would’ve looked pretty similar to hers. They even shared the young-looking face framed by a few stand out gray hairs at the temple. 

“You just got the bringing in groceries together vibe? I don’t trust this guy,” Vex said. 

“Pickle,” Vax said. “You look a little crazy. What’s going on?” 

Pike probably looked a little crazy because she suddenly realized that the music lessons that she had been sure were between Scanlan and his daughter, coincidentally also a tween, sounding from 304 were silent now. She crossed the room to the balcony doors and looked out. The two slight figures moved from the sidewalk back into the 300 building. 

Amidst the confusion and, well, stronger and more immediate turbo-confusion, she was also furious.

“What the fuck?” she said out loud but to no one in particular. 

Very quickly, Vex was clambering over the couch and gripping Pike’s shoulders to see their visitors just retreat inside the building across the lawn. 

“What the fuck,” Vex said. 

“What the fuck,” Pike agreed. 

“They’re over in 300,” Vex explained to Vax and Gilmore. “Was she spying on you? What the hell was that?”

Without a plan or any clue what was really going on, Pike walked out of the apartment. She was aware of conversation as she left, and that Vex was following her, but she didn’t care. After these recent letters and talks about trust, Pike was trying to hold off feeling anything until she could speak to Scanlan. 

Pike stormed over to the 300 building, speeding past Kima who was leaving at the time, holding the door open for them with a look of confusion. The layout in 300 was mostly a reverse of the layout in their building, so she found the door with the brass numbered 304 on it like she already knew where she was going and banged on the door. 

A few seconds later, Scanlan opened the door. He was clean shaven again and it made him look about ten years younger, despite the little strands of gray by his temple that matched the other woman’s. His hair was all over the place, curls unmanaged and very soft-looking and Pike vehemently ignored it. He looked between Vex and Pike cautiously. “Oh, um, hi.” 

Vex stood next to Pike and pointed a finger at Scanlan. “I have a question for you. Did you send—“

“Who do you think you are?” Pike shouted, feeling the words spill out of her without effort or thought. “Who are you?” 

In the midst of looking like a deer in the headlights, Scanlan said uneasily, “You know—Scanlan?” 

He looked very confused but it felt like there was a storm building in Pike’s chest, powerful waves battering between her lungs. “You keep talking about trust and trustworthiness and how it’s important to know the kind of person you really are, but I don’t know who you are. I can’t even tell if you know. You just keep saying things that make it incredibly hard to dislike you. I keep getting thrown back between thinking you might be an asshole underneath everything and wanting to care about you and I don’t know which is right and I can’t stop thinking about you either way. I was fine waiting until Monday but now I don’t know what to think! Who are you?” 

Scanlan looked paralyzed at the door. There was a long pause where he and Pike seemed not to be able to look away from each other. His eyes looked sad and desperate. He took a deep breath, as if to speak, but a voice from behind him spoke instead. 

“Shit.” 

Pike looked behind him to see the woman and girl from before. The girl crossed her arms and looked up at the woman haughtily. “I told you that was a bad idea.” 

The woman hushed her, starting to look flustered, and stood by Scanlan. 

Pike took a step back. She figured this had to be the girl’s mother. She hadn’t really expected Scanlan’s _babymama_ to be so much older. Seeing them next to each other, Pike could see the age difference. But she could also see how similar they looked, which was unsettling. They had the same dark brownish-black curly hair and short, slight proportions. Their faces weren’t the same, but they weren’t totally dissimilar either. 

Vex cleared her throat, and squeezed Pike’s arm, sort of pulling her aside. “Well, um, did you send these two over to Pike’s?”

The woman smiled apologetically to Pike. “I’m sorry about before. I just… I was curious.” 

Scanlan whipped back to confusion, eyes darting between Pike and the other woman. “I’m sorry, what’s going on? Do you two know each other?” 

The woman winced. “I kind of went over to her apartment during our break.” 

Scanlan paled rapidly. “You did what now?” 

She squeezed Scanlan’s shoulder, almost mirroring the gesture Vex was giving to Pike. “I’m sorry, baby, it was really stupid. I just went over there to see what kind of person she was like.” 

Scanlan, having gone on a pretty extreme and sudden face journey, now looking like his eyes were about to jump out of his head, choked on a sound. “You what? You… you had Kaylie with you? You _cased_ Pike? You took my daughter with you to ambush some poor woman you don’t know?!” 

The woman looked very uncomfortable, but nodded. “Sorry,” she said, to both Scanlan and Pike. 

Scanlan made a long, groaning sound into his hands and when he came up for air he looked at the woman dumbfounded. “Ma! What the hell, Mom!” 

Hearing him say that was weirdly surprising and reassuring at the same time. “Mom?” Pike said. 

Vex said quietly, “She does not look old enough to be his mom, damn.” 

The woman said, “thank you” at the same time Scanlan sighed very loudly. 

The girl said, “Teenage pregnancy.” She pointed back and forth between Scanlan and, apparently, Scanlan’s also quite young parent. “They’re both bad influences. Runs in the family.”

He looked at Pike with a kind of resigned desperation and said, “Can you excuse us for a second?” Scanlan shut the door, but not all the way. His hand was still gripping the edge of it. And they could hear every part of the not-so-hushed conversation. 

“Are you _trying_ to murder me, Ma? Are you _trying_ to give me a heart attack?” 

“I’m sorry, chickadee. I wanted to see what she was like. I probably should’ve found a better way.”

“Probably? What did you do? Tell her you have to check out everyone your son is remotely interested in? Well obviously not. You didn’t say you were my mother. Oh my god, Mom, did you lie to Pike?” 

“I didn’t lie! I just… was vague about the truth.”

“Are you from a sitcom? Did you walk out of a 1970s sitcom into this building right now? Are you trying to _Three’s Company_ my life for some reason? Is this some sort of revenge based lesson you’re trying to teach me about being more responsible?” 

Pike finally let out a deep breath. Knowing this was a weird mother thing made the storm in her chest subside a little bit. Standing in the hallway, overhearing Scanlan and his mother bicker one-sidedly, she felt oddly calm now. She knew what she’d said to him was what she’d been feeling these past few weeks, but for some reason seeing his dumb-founded face when his mother revealed what happened was grounding. 304 had barely mentioned much about his daughter and mother. Only to say that his daughter was cool and sarcastic, and that his mother was very caring, but a little flighty. Seeing them together in action, finally knowing that the things 304 said were verifiable and had meaning, even if it was a ridiculous argument in the doorway of his apartment, rooted him there in the real world. 

304 was more than just music from nowhere. Scanlan was more than just some flirtation and cheeky wordplay. And everything in between, from his sweet tooth to his impromptu lectures on music history to his confessions about drugs, started to sort into the image of one whole person. 

For the first time in a while, Pike felt relieved. 

After a little more bickering, Scanlan swung the door back open with a rueful grin. 

“Hey. I am. So sorry about this.” 

“I’m very sorry,” Scanlan’s mom echoed. “I shouldn’t have invaded your privacy under false pretenses.” But she smiled brightly, and, all things considered, did not look very broken up about what she did. 

“It’s okay,” Pike said. “Just don’t do it again.” 

“Well, I can’t. You know what I look like now.” 

And really, Pike didn’t hold it against her all that much. She obviously cared about Scanlan, and considering the kind of stage of life he was in, coming out of rehab for the second time and the kind of vulnerability that was, Pike couldn’t say she wouldn’t be much different in her shoes. She would probably be overprotective of Grog and too invasive in his life in the same situation. 

Scanlan muttered an “oh my god” under his breath and sighed again. He looked at Pike again, some of that sadness coming back. “I’m sorry about everything. I understand if you want to, you know, change your plans. For Monday.” 

Pike shook her head. “Oh no, we’re still on.” 

“We are?” 

“Yeah.”

“What about,” Scanlan paused, aware there were too many people around, “what you said before?” 

“Well, I have a slightly better picture now. We still need to talk, but I’m okay with that if you are.”

Scanlan nodded cautiously. “Are you sure?”

“If you want to make it up to me, let’s just say you owe me a song.” 

“One song?”

“Uh huh.”

Scanlan smiled. “That’s a tall order. Do you think I can swing that?” 

“I have faith. See you Monday.” 

Scanlan nodded back to her, and before he closed the door, Pike could just see Scanlan’s mom smiling and looking smug. When they departed, walking back out of the building, Pike grinned and elbowed Vex. 

“I thought you were going to fight him for me,” Pike teased. 

Vex snorted and elbowed back. “Well, I was. It got a bit personal though about one second after I first opened my mouth. Thought I should leave it to you.” Then after a beat, she added, “So you have had this whole, like, quiet relationship with him apart from everyone else.” 

“We’re not dating.” 

“I didn’t say that. Although, you two act very much like you’re dating, but I mean, you had a rapport. I didn’t think you would have a rapport.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“It means I revoke my disapproval for the time being. Because you like him.”

Pike nodded. At the very least, that was true. 

They were opening the door to the 200 building when Vex added, “Also because he told his mother about you, which is several more levels of serious than I expected.” 

Pike forced a laugh, following her in, but blanched at the realization that had somehow passed her by. _Holy shit, he told his mom_. 

Grog was awake back in the apartment, confused and awkwardly waiting with Vax and Gilmore to see if they should do anything. Pike let Vex take most of the responsibility of explaining what was going on, which, after the fact, was pretty silly. She felt significantly better, but it was still weird. 

Having someone’s unclear identity cleared slightly by their mother coming into your apartment on a fact finding mission was as good a reason for brunch time to be over as any. After Gilmore, Vex, and Vax left, Pike was left with Grog who was trying to look casual, which meant he desperately wanted to say something but didn’t want to be the first to say it. 

“So,” she said as they loaded up the washing machine with brunch plates, “you know Scanlan is 304.” 

Grog stayed tight-lipped, but nodded. 

“Did he… talk about me?” 

“Not really. Just said you were hanging out at The Sun Tree. He _told_ me you offered to take him for a ride on your bike.” Grog gave her a significant look. 

Pike felt her face turning red, so she turned around to the sink to rinse any nearby dish she could find. It wasn’t like she never took people on her bike. She even took Grog occasionally, but he was a bit heavy on the frame and it made him nervous. Still, it sounded more provocative when it came to Scanlan. 

“Well, you know, it seemed like a good idea to offer him a ride. He walks everywhere.” 

“So, you’re going on a date with Scanlan.” 

Pike turned back around and put a frying pan in the dishwasher tray declaratively. “It’s not a date.” 

Grog gave her a very prim, disbelieving look that never should have appeared on his face. 

“It’s not,” she said, knowing even as she said it how fake it sounded. “We’re, just, getting to know each other,” she added, sounding even more unbelievable to her own ears with the memory of Scanlan’s stupefied face when she said they were still on for Monday. “I don’t know if it’s a date. Maybe after the fact, it’ll be a date, but right now I don’t know.” 

Grog shrugged. “I like him as a buddy. He’s funnier than everyone else. But you should tell me if he does anything stupid.” 

“I will.” 

“Also, you know,” Grog looked down and sniffed, “I know Vex said she didn’t like him, but I know him a little better. I don’t want to know about any, you know… touchy-feely things you do, but maybe, be a little careful with him. I think he’s a bit afraid of you. Not like, you-you, you know, but… parts of you.” 

“Yeah, I think I get that,” she said, knowing Grog was pretty far into territory he didn’t like. But really, she got it. After seeing all his letters put together, after seeing him at The Sun Tree that first time, after seeing him try to hide behind his door by his mother, she did understand him a bit better now. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about 304.”

Grog smiled sheepishly, but gently elbowed her shoulder. “It’s okay. Feelings are pretty embarrassing.” 

The time between then and Monday spilled by awkwardly. It felt a little like she should just go over to his apartment and say the things she wanted to say, given how close he really was, but she didn’t. She just overheard music sometimes and wondered what he was thinking, if he’d thought everything was too weird now and wouldn’t show up Monday. Work on Sunday went faster than expected, or at least easier, without too many dangerous accidents and with Kash putting up little resistance to her unusual chattiness. Monday morning she went to the gym to work off some energy and clear her head. Then Monday evening, after spending longer than she would ever admit to anyone picking out and rejecting outfits before eventually going back to the first outfit she’d picked, Pike made her way to The Sun Tree. 

She thought she would get there a little early and be totally calm and collected by the time Scanlan arrived, but she walked in the front door to a modest crowd sitting around the stage where Scanlan was playing on a little ukulele. 

She found a place to sit off to the side, trying to remember what the song he was singing was. It was familiar. But it was almost over and he transitioned into the next semi-familiar song with a few bright and playful chords. 

“ _It is the springtime of my loving, the second season I am to know. You are the sunlight in my growing, so little warmth I’ve felt before_.” 

For a moment, Pike felt like she was watching something she shouldn’t. Most of the time Scanlan told her when he was performing, but not this time. And he wasn’t looking up from the ground in front of him. Her palms felt a little sweaty over the song. It was long, slow, and… romantic. Still he didn’t know she was there and that was reassuring. It was very hard to feel neutral anything as he song. 

For his last song, he played a little faster, but still in vibrant, circular notes. She’d never listened to anyone play the ukulele in person and there was an infectious happiness to the sounds she was pretty sure was unfair to her in the circumstances. This last one, however, was one she knew the name of and remembered from listening to music with JB in high school— _Just Like Heaven_ by The Cure. It sounded substantially different from the original, down to his tone of voice, more melodious and sweeter than she remembered the radio play. 

From _Show me, show me, show me_ to _you soft and only, you lost and lonely, you just like heaven_ , Pike was mesmerized. It was more than she imagined when she asked for a song.

When the clapping started, she remembered where she was and that other people were around. 

Scanlan stopped in his tracks for a moment when he saw her after leaving the stage. Then he came closer, and sat down at the little round table they usually sat at, laying the ukulele in the middle. 

“Hi,” Pike said. 

“Hi,” he said quietly, looking dazedly at Pike for a second. 

He was still clean-shaved, and he was wearing a white button down shirt and dark dress pants. There was a little volume to the front of his curls, but his hair was shiny with product and combed down. His usual earrings were gone. For the first time ever, really, he looked _nondescript_ and there was something incredibly unnerving about it. Even moreso that she hadn’t noticed how boring he was dressed while he’d been singing. 

Without thinking, she blurted, “You look like a waiter.” 

He smiled weakly. “I had a job interview.” 

“Oh, how did it go?” 

He shrugged half-heartedly. “My mom didn’t burst in to browbeat them, so probably okay. Again, sorry about that.” 

Pike couldn’t help a smile. “It’s okay.” 

Scanlan’s face screwed up in doubt. “Is it?” 

Pike laughed. “It is. I hope you’re not too angry with her.” 

His posture finally relaxed. “I mean it was the most embarrassing thing she’s done since she showed up at theater rehearsal in 6th grade to accuse my teacher of being anti-Semitic for casting me as Judas in Jesus Christ Superstar, but no. She’s my mom. I promise she’s not normally terrible. She’s just very protective right now. She didn’t lie very egregiously did she?” 

“She mostly avoided answering anything and asked me very personal questions.” 

Scanlan slapped his hands against his face and groaned. 

“If it’s any consolation, your daughter is really cute.” 

That instantly brought him back up with a fond smile. “She is, isn’t she. She’s kinda mean sometimes, but she’s had to put up with a lot from me. She’s great, though.” 

Pike cleared her throat. “You and your ex… had her when you were really young? I’m not… That doesn’t bother me. I just…” 

“We’re here to _talk_ ,” Scanlan said, smiling, but tensing up again. “With a capital T.” 

“We are. I do have things I want to say.” 

There was a beat, where Scanlan looked like someone told him his dog was going to die and Pike was hoping maybe an earthquake would interrupt her. She gripped the glass of water next to her hand tightly and summoned the words she’d been thinking of for the past week. It wasn’t like it had been in her head, some were a surprise, but none of them were wrong. 

“I want to say… I know you’re not like my parents. When you first sent me that letter, I was a little angry. You were right, it was a lot to just unload at my doorstep. And I was like… afraid you were getting too serious, afraid of what you wanted from me. At the same I didn’t want you to not tell me. It took me a while to realize that you were just doing what you explained in the letter—trying to be honest. Not even for me, maybe, but for you. Which is good. Because my parents… My parents have never been honest with me. They never talked to me about getting better or apologized. My parents abandoned me.” 

Pike felt the words reverberate through her. She didn’t say it out loud often. It hurt. It sucked. Just saying could suck the sound out of the room and it took a lot of effort to think of herself as anything but someone who’d been left behind. Saying it to other people made her feel weak and small. 

On the table Scanlan’s hand twitched closer to hers. It opened to cover hers, but he stopped. Pike smiled. 

“I think we’ve got to start out again at the same place and that means you have to know you’re not like them. You have your mother and daughter and even your ex. And me and Grog. I’m glad you sent me that letter. I know what I said on Saturday wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to demand to know who you are. That’s not how anyone finds out who they are. It takes time. And I do want to take the time to get to know you.” 

Scanlan’s eyes were bright and he said, barely audibly, “I would like that a lot.” 

The conversation went on, very awkwardly at first, but it got easy again, like it almost always was talking to Scanlan. They talked until close and a tired looking barista started putting chairs up on tables around them. Scanlan put his ukulele in his bag and walked with Pike out to her motorcycle. 

“Well, I’ll see you later,” he said, starting to drift back from Pike. 

Pike almost laughed. “Wait. We’re going back to the same place. Are you sure you don’t want a ride?”

Scanlan bit his lip, looking like he was very much trying to contain nerves as his eyes darted warily between Pike and her bike for a very long moment. 

“You can wear my helmet, obviously.” 

Scanlan grimaced. “Oh boy. What about your head? Pike! What about _your_ head!” 

Pike bit down a giggle. She knew she shouldn’t be getting such joy out of this. “Passenger always gets the helmet. I have another; I just didn’t bring it. But I’ll go slow, no sudden turns or stops. It’s only a short drive back, but it’s a long walk.” 

It took a minute, but Scanlan cracked and agreed. She helped him get the helmet on right. He slammed the visor down when she started laughing at his ridiculous pout squished inside the helmet. After they were both situated on the bike, it only took about twenty feet of travel before Scanlan’s respectable distance behind her closed to being plastered against her back. His arms went from touching her sides to wrapping all the way around her stomach. 

She totally understood why dudes tried to get girls to ride with them. She felt a little ashamed about it, but it was kind of a turn on have someone holding onto her for dear life, while she operated a powerful machine. She felt slightly better about the thrill when the drive proved as uneventful as she hoped. 

When they got back to Emon Towers and parked the bike, Scanlan stood up hesitantly. His hands were outstretched, like he was trying to regain his equilibrium. 

She pulled the helmet off his head with a laugh. “Are you okay?” 

Scanlan blinked owlishly, looking around the immobile surroundings. He just nodded. “That was… vibrational.” 

Pike started walking him closer to the lawn between their buildings. “A little more _exciting_ than you expected?” 

“Joke’s on you. I was way too terrified to get a boner.” 

Pike laughed. “I mean, for real, though. Are you okay? I know you don’t like vehicles. It wasn’t too scary?” 

He looked a bit more confident now on solid ground. “No, it was fine. It was nice to have someone to cling to, but it was alright. I could see doing it again. I trust you.” 

Pike felt a little smug for a second too long and luxuriated in the sentiment, because then there was another awkward silence. They were standing alone near the picnic table and a leaf from the maple tree wafted down and almost hit Pike in the face. They just had to go back to their apartments now. 

“Thanks for the song,” she said, loudly. “Earlier. It was very pretty.” 

Scanlan frowned a little. “What? Oh, that was just part of my set. That wasn’t the song I owe you.” 

“It wasn’t?”

“No.”

“What’s the song you owe me then?” 

“I’m, uh, writing it, still.” 

Pike had to work extra hard against feeling smug at that. “You’re writing me a song?” 

Now that the sun was down for a while and they were away from the parking lot’s lights, Pike couldn’t tell if he was blushing at all, but he nodded a little awkwardly. 

“Tell me what it’s about.” 

“It’s not done!” Scanlan said in a slightly panicked voice. 

“What if I wanted my song right now?” she teased. 

Scanlan paused, and turned away from her. For a split second she thought he was just walking away, but he jumped up on the picnic table and took the ukulele out of his bag and started strumming, almost as fast as she could register what was happening. It was dark out and several lights were out from apartment windows. 

“Oh, no, wait.”

But Scanlan kept playing a fast, upbeat tune. Again one that was somewhat familiar. She was stunned a bit at first, because she hadn’t actually expected him to start playing for her. But the melody was sweet and the lyrics started to get more familiar, and even though his voice was a little worn, it was clear she was a sucker for his singing. 

“ _Not to put too fine a point on it, say I’m the only bee in your bonnet. Make a little birdhouse in your soul._ ” 

It was a longer song than she remembered, and he got louder and more into it as he sang, tapping with a foot on the picnic table. Then jumping down and moving around with Pike. She sang along with the chorus animatedly in his face. They finished out the end together, serenading up at the stars, and she clapped wildly and then threw her arms around him. She’d heard him play plenty of times, and even as 304 he’d played specifically for her, but it all came bubbling out of her in that moment. 

“Thank you, thank you,” she said and kissed his cheek. 

Pike hadn’t really intended to kiss him, and his hands were still on his ukulele trapped in between them. “Um, thanks.”

“Yeah, no, thank you.”

“You said thanks already.” 

“Oh, hmm.” 

From out of the air, somewhere above them, a voice yelled, “Get a room! And headphones!” 

They chuckled and stepped apart from each other and said their good byes without making any distinct plans. But Scanlan did say he’d text. Grog was playing Portal and paused the game expectantly when she walked in the apartment. 

“I heard singing. Is that like second base for you two?” 

Pike rolled her eyes, sat down on the couch, and snatched a controller from the coffee table. “Shut up and play,” she said to avoid any discussion of their big emotional talk, which Grog wouldn’t want to talk about. It was really the best way to let him know that everything went fine anyway. 

And if Grog noticed that she sang snatches _Birdhouse in Your Soul_ under her breath as they played, neither of them said anything about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~*~ 
> 
> i hope that was satisfying but at least we got to a kiss point fuck yeah! 
> 
> first thank you to some lovely people who made fanart for this fic. i cherish it and you. thanks to [acecasinova](http://acecasinova.tumblr.com/post/165273077114/filed-under-things-that-shouldnt-have-taken-all) and [ocleeu](http://ocleeu.tumblr.com/post/165353107757/i-would-like-to-thank-jabletown-and-their)!! 
> 
> music of import:  
> -the practice piece for kaylie, [the opening from far from the madding crowd](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0eD4kdrFTIQ)  
> -[rain song by led zep but on the ukulele!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0r_6pTtGwhI&list=LL_84uKvEv5TZCZkSCfNNqcw)  
> -[just like heaven by the cure but on the ukulele!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2A_t_VAuSMk&list=LL_84uKvEv5TZCZkSCfNNqcw&index=2)  
> -[birdhouse in your soul by tmbg](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NhjSzjoU7OQ) but i didn't like any of the videos covering this song bc for some reason they all had terrible terrible sound quality
> 
> thanks so much for reading. i adore all your comments and owe you my lifeblood. stay tuned as i--omg--approach the end of this story. <3


	11. the way i feel when i'm in your hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little inspired by [this post](http://jabletown.tumblr.com/post/161435039963/shorthalt-shorthalt-critical-role-au-where)\-- apartment block vm modern au
> 
> Scanlan tries his hand at honesty. Also singing and shit. One is harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey wow it's been a while!
> 
> i genuinely thought it had only been a month since the last chapter, but when i checked the other day it was more like two and a half. whoops! 
> 
> i also think this is the first chapter of rejoice since pikelan became canon???? amazing. 
> 
> make sure you check out the fic tameila wrote for our fic exchange between this fic and [The Sun Always Rises](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10013741/chapters/22323065), For This Very Chapter Actually!! it's called [give my regards to soul and romance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12552964) and it's set a week or two before THIS VERY CHAPTER YOU'RE ABOUT TO READ and it's WONDERFUL!! 
> 
> standard background warnings apply. i think the only thing to know for this chapter is that it's hella long and got pretty horny. i recommend [listening to this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WP7YFFUs4Kw&list=RDWP7YFFUs4Kw) while you read or at least when the link appears later. i think you'll value hearing it when it shows up in the story. 
> 
> hope you enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> ~*~

“Aw, c’mon guys!”

Grog was standing in the darkened entryway, gesturing at the couch futilely.

“Not cool! Not on the couch.”

Part of Scanlan’s brain was definitely taken over with some primordial fish impulse to just stay put and quiet to hopefully go unnoticed. That was too late, obviously, but maybe Grog would just… go away.

Pike coughed, and squeezed her legs tighter around Scanlan’s hips, which was singularly unhelpful in Scanlan’s immediate need to not have a boner anymore. He could tell immediately this wasn’t the sort of third-person-walks-in scenario that could lead to extra sexy times for Scanlan.

“We’re not,” she said, trying to use Scanlan as a shield between Grog and her boobs, which were having a bit of a nip slip situation from her pastel polka-dotted bra. “I mean, it’s not… We’re just kissing.”

Grog looked very insulted in addition to very disappointed, but not disgusted so he probably couldn’t see Pike’s nips.

And Scanlan didn’t blame him. Neither he nor Pike were wearing shirts anymore and they’d obviously been frotting on the couch like horny teenagers. And this was also the third time in less than two weeks Grog had walked in on them making out in the living room. It wasn’t like they hadn’t known Grog was coming home eventually, this time or the time before or the time before that, but Scanlan couldn’t help himself. Time went by fast and then didn’t seem to matter when he was kissing Pike.

“I eat breakfast on that couch,” Grog said sadly. “Why don’t you go to Scanlan’s if you’re gonna get naked? He doesn’t have roommates.”

Scanlan was trying to think of something to say—mainly to get Grog to leave—but it was a struggle. From his position on top of Pike, thoughts were _distant_ to say the least. He pushed up on the frame of the couch to belatedly get some respectable space between him and Pike, resisting the strong urge to rest his head on her bosom—hers being the ideal bosom for such a thing.

“We’ll, uh,” he started, not really finding a place to go with his words. “Try not to. In future. I mean, elsewhere.” 

Pike looked at him strange, but said, “Sorry, Grog. We lost track of time.”

Grog sighed, walked through the kitchen, making a point of loudly getting something from the fridge, and went to his room with a loud door-shutting thud.

Pike bit her lip, but hadn’t removed Scanlan from her arms, or legs. “I feel bad. I’m a bad roommate.”

“You’re a really great girlfriend, though.”

Her hand on his side pinched a little at the skin below his ribcage. “I didn’t realize it was so late.”

Scanlan bit back a sigh. Conversation. He could see the mood slipping through his fingers. “Yeah,” he agreed regretfully, “I should probably get going.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, her other hand sliding over to his face, touching his cheek and scraping fingernails against his scalp.

He couldn’t help leaning into her hand, pushing his nose into the crook of her neck. He couldn’t help trying to curl around her more tightly and grabbing her hips and thighs because he wanted to touch her everywhere and all the time. He couldn’t help kissing her again, along her collarbone and neck. A nice sound resonated in her throat and he could feel it against his lips. Her moan turned into a laugh. He could feel it attach to his heart and start to ache. It was the exact sensation of being shot with an arrow by a fat, winged baby.

He pushed away from her and tried not to look only at her red flushed lips. Tried not to think about blood flow. But the other options were dark blue eyes framed with smudged mascara, mussed hair, and her breasts—god he’d never thought of using the word with a straight face but it never felt so applicable— _heaving_. They were all dangerous options.

He sat back on the couch, extracting himself from between Pike’s legs, an act of grotesque willpower and sorrow.

Pike sat up, worrying her swollen bottom lip. “It is getting pretty late.”

Scanlan nodded.

More like a good time for a tactical retreat. He wanted to stay—fucking hell, he wanted to stay forever. Of course, that was entirely the problem. Pike had made it clear the pace of this relationship was going to be glacial, which was fine. It was even good, probably. Scanlan was slightly more familiar with learning niceties like his partner’s job and last name after he’d spent some time inside them. Most of that had a lot of overlap with refusing to go to therapy and his inner addict’s need to consume the good stuff as much and as fast as possible. So it was probably for the best they were taking it slow.

Besides, Pike should be treated… Well, he didn’t want to get too precious about how Pike should be treated when his mother, Sybil, his daughter, his therapist, and probably Pike as well would collectively roll their eyes at the thought of him waxing over what Pike deserved. But he didn’t want to treat her like an addiction.

Also he definitely wanted to treat her like the perfect treasure angel she was, but he could control that. Or avoid admitting it at least.

“You’re, uh,” Pike cleared her throat, “still okay with everyone coming out with us Friday night?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’ll be fun, getting to know the gang.”

“They can be a little overwhelming all at once. Especially Vex and Vax together. And Kash is… formidable.”

She tugged her crooked bra back in place. One strap was all twisted and Scanlan reached over to straighten without thinking. He couldn’t resist lingering on her skin, because, hey, the incredible resolve of an addict.

He pulled his hand away, even if he couldn’t stop looking at all her soft, muscled skin. He shrugged. Vex and Vax didn’t frighten him. He was happy to get to know Pike’s friends if it meant getting Pike to see he could be serious.

“Sorry about…” Pike motioned to his tent.

Scanlan leapt for funny and fell dick-first into slightly too real. “Eh, you’re not the first girl to be sorry about it.”

Pike snorted, looking at him like she was reflecting on the dubious choices that led her here.

Scanlan ran his hands through his hair and forced a laugh as he could visualize himself digging in deeper. “Ironic, huh? The joke was the one who was flaccid.”

Pike smirked dangerously. “I thought talking was your forte.”

“Oh, it is. This is all part of my design.”

“What’s that?”

“To kill the mood so hard we can never resurrect it again?”

Pike laughed. It was a good laugh, one he wanted to feel for a long, long time.

“Grog will never have to walk in on us again if you find me too pathetic to kiss.”

She pushed his shoulder and chided him to stop through the laughter.

This was basically his kryptonite. Getting his stupid words, or a few lines of a song, maybe a little playing around on the piano, to make some hot person laugh and see their eyes get that happy sparkly agreeable softness—that was his first addiction, that was his bread and butter. Except normally his thrill was getting his catch. He and Pike were already dating, Pike had actually met and spend a day with his daughter, and it wasn’t her being caught— it was him. Pike was more glorious and beautiful than ever, laughing and carelessly half naked and indulging his dumb jokes. And unless he wanted to embarrass himself by saying “God fucking damn, I’m in love with you, Pike,” he needed to stop.

He cleared his throat. “I think you’re sitting on my shirt.”

She turned a bit pinker and retrieved their shirts from between the cushions.

Reluctantly determined, Scanlan put his shirt and shoes and jacket on and left. And they only kissed a little bit more in the doorway.

Pike let go of his jacket collar and leaned against the door frame. “Can you hang out Wednesday?”

Scanlan sighed, feeling suddenly overwhelmed with the lack of contact. “Nah, I picked up a job at Lindstrom. There’s a rehearsal session.”

Pike’s eyebrows lifted high. “Are you acting with your mom?”

“Their pianist for the next production got a job across the country. Mom coerced me into auditioning.”

“Scanlan!” Pike poked his collarbone. “You didn’t tell me! That’s great news!”

He shrugged, but felt a lot more than he wanted to admit. He was excited; he was nervous; he felt a little stupid that he hadn’t wanted to try out. “I didn’t think they’d hire me. I didn’t want to, you know, make a big deal out of it in case I didn’t get the job.”

Pike grinned really big. “That’s so exciting! I’m just, like, imagining you as an old time-y piano player with those, like, ragtime hats and arm suspenders while movies are playing. But in this case with live actors and music and stuff.”

Scanlan laughed hard enough he nearly brained himself on the door he was still holding open. “Sorta. More formalwear and a baby grand, but that’s kind of it, yeah.”

“Oh, tuxedo?” Pike said, looking either unnerved or intrigued by the idea. Scanlan couldn’t tell—they were both pretty tired. “Like black tie fancy tux all the time?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes even white tie.”

Pike made an adorable surprise face that reminded him how slippery the slope of infatuation was. “Whoa,” she said.

“I’m right there with ya, sister.”

Pike wrapped her little fingers around his collar for a second again and pulled him closer to kiss his cheek. “I’m happy for you, Scanlan.”

Finding it hard to resist, and then actually not able to resist, Scanlan said, “If happy gets me a kiss on the cheek, what does really happy get me?”

“I think you already got that.”

“What about elated? Delighted? Ecstatic? Blissful?”

Pike shrugged but smiled coyly. “I guess you’ve got to, just, wait and find out.”

There was a nearly even crush of force inside him where his overfed want met his ambition. He nodded. “I can wait.”

They said their goodbyes, again, and kissed, again, and Scanlan went home alone, again.

The week went by fast—picking up Kaylie from school and doing violin lessons, doing practice rehearsal for his new job at the Lindstrom and learning the pieces for an upcoming show and getting to know the orchestra, dropping into N.A. because he hadn’t been in a while, trying to catch a minute with Pike when they both weren’t on the precipice of falling asleep.

It helped with Friday hanging over his head like an anvil.

Friday he was going on a group date with Pike and basically the whole retinue of her social circle. Which was all fine and a standard part of how normal people dated, he assumed. But in true Scanlan fashion he made it a lot worse for himself by suggesting they go see The Golden Grin as the evening’s entertainment.

Which had resulted in a call to Dr. D, which had gone… okay. Brief, at the very least.

Scanlan hadn’t been great to Dranzel during his relapse. He’d agreed to do some gigs for him and blown off a few of them, and then stopped answering his calls entirely. Scanlan had had a working relationship with Theodore Dranzel since his first time in rehab, and had at times thought of him as a kind of cool uncle that taught him a lot about not just playing with music, but working with music. Scanlan still felt shitty about ghosting him and didn’t really know how to make it up to him.

Dranzel wasn’t that much of a words guy. If he’d appreciated the apology over the phone, Scanlan couldn’t tell.

Maybe there just wasn’t a way to feel okay with talking to a friend you hadn’t spoken to for a year because of your own stupid choices.

So Friday came in fast and made a concession about his nerves. He told Pike, totally unprompted, he was nervous about making a good impression with her friends. Then he told his mom and Dr. Aouni that he was honest about his feelings, and they were nice but not as congratulatory as he wanted. Then Scanlan decided there was no way he could look anything less than immaculate if he was going to feel _vulnerable_ about everything.

He’d called up his mom the night before to give each other manicures. He took the longest shower he’d taken since he was sixteen and got to work. In the bathroom he lined up all the vital heavy hitters—the expensive shea butter lotion he never used for jacking off, three different combs, the Moroccan oil, the no frizz spray, the extra sensitive organic shaving lotion, and the bay rum aftershave. He got some of his stage clothes out of storage and decided on an outfit Juniper called Vegas IT Guy. It was blue suede derby shoes, his black Calvin Klein slims, a cerulean blue silk skinny tie, and a black short-sleeved dress shirt with a blue sequin fold over collar and pocket. 

There was a moment when he was standing in front of the mirror ten minutes before he was supposed to go over to Pike’s where he was a heartbeat away from calling Sybil and asking if it was too much. But since she’d definitely say yes and then also call him an idiot, he didn’t.

As a finishing touch he tacked on a silver tie clip that had a small but noticeable sparkling white heart faceted in the middle.

In the mirror he looked different. Not like how he remembered himself before the relapse or during it. And he walked away from it so he didn’t spend any more time trying to figure out who that was.

At Pike and Grog’s apartment, Vex opened the door. Scanlan braced himself for whatever zinger she had locked and loaded, because it looked like she had one, but her expression abruptly changed. Her eyebrows rose up and she looked him up and down in not at all a sexy way and very much a confused, evaluating way.

He self-consciously pulled at his sequined collar and cleared his throat. “Good evening, Vex.”

Her eyes cleared and a small smirk played over her lips. “As always, bold sartorial choices, Scanlan.”

“You look very lovely too, Vex.”

She rolled her eyes but stepped aside to let him in. Her own sartorial choices were more classic, along the lines of a slinky black dress and black heels, but with some incomprehensibly complicated layered gold statement necklace that made her look like she could be at home at someone’s after work birthday party in a rented bar or a fancy reception with a guest list.

“Your hair looks very good,” she said, with a hint of disappointment, as they walked into the living room, where too many people were milling around. A guy he’d never seen before was sitting in his and Pike’s make out spot talking to another guy he’d never seen before and the ginger barista from The Sun Tree.

“I didn’t spend 45 minutes on it for a substandard coiffure.”

She looked at him sharply, touching the ends of her own hair doubtfully. “I didn’t spend that long on mine.”

“Well, I had to build the whole look around it.”

“So did I.”

Vax, the one Scanlan had not talked to as much yet, popped up out of nowhere with an unimpressed look on his face. “Don’t worry. You’re both still contenders for Best Dressed.”

“Obviously,” Scanlan said, at the same time Vex, “Of course I am, brother. Don’t be absurd.”

The way the apartment was laid out Scanlan could see through the living room and the kitchen, but Pike was nowhere to be seen. He took a step in further, and Grog, who was standing by the kitchen island with Gilmore, immediately caught his eye.

“Ah, Scanlan,” Gilmore said. “Good to see you again.”

“Nice to see you, Shaun.”

“I was just talking to Grog about an exciting new shipment I got in for the shop. Some very interesting interbellum expressionist art from Eastern Europe.”

Grog gave him a look of silent despair.

“Oh, I’d love to see that,” Scanlan said not putting much effort into it. “Where’s Pike?”

Vax and Vex walked back into his periphery, smiling at him, unnervingly cat-like.

“She’s still getting ready,” Grog moaned. “I think she burned herself. It’s never taken this long before.”

Vex shot a glare at Grog before saying, “There was a little mishap with the curling iron but everything’s fine now.”

“Curling iron?” Scanlan spat. “Her hair is too short!”

“She wanted to get a little lift, Mr. I Take Forty-five Minutes To Put My Curls In Exact Curly Not Too Curly Order With No Doubt At Least Three Overpriced Salon Products.”

Scanlan held his hands up in surrender. “Fair enough. No need to read me like that. Damn.”

Then the rest of the room’s inhabitants converged on their little conversation.

Kiki, the only one he’d met, said, “Oh, are we almost ready to go?”

“Pike will be out shortly,” Vex said.

Kiki was wearing a hideous slouchy sweater and harem pants combo, but since she was skinny and very tall still managed to look like a lost supermodel. The two guys he didn’t know were wearing acceptable club wear if they also expected to go to a wedding later—very expensive clothes on the blond, including some very nice shoes Scanlan was pretty jealous of, and a freaking waistcoat on the one with glasses. Scanlan immediately rated them as the kind of obnoxious rich kids he’d see at The Cloud Top, but ones too awkward to cut loose and therefore the kind that wouldn’t give him good tips.

And Kiki introduced them as Tary and Percy, friends of Vex and classmates of Kiki, but both Engineering post-grads.

So he was right.

Thankfully he didn’t have to sit through—well, ignore— too much explanation of Engineering projects before Pike and another guy Scanlan had never seen but instantly recognized from her description as Pike’s paramedic friend, Kash.

“I don’t need the ice it’s not a—Scanlan!”

Pike was more _dressed up_ than usual, her make up a little fuller and shimmery, and her hair in little waves instead of her more angular messy pixie style. She was as beautiful as she was every time he saw her, but there was a strange slowing of time when he saw her. Because the very first thing he thought was that they were dressed like a couple.

She wasn’t wearing sequins because she wasn’t as gaudy as Scanlan, but she was wearing a knee length blue skirt that had a darker blue sparkly border that dispersed upward like scattered stars. She had on a white fuzzy sweater and glittering blue ballet flats instead of her regular toe-stomping combat boots. Resting over her sweater was a silver necklace pendant in the shape of a heart—anatomically correct, but still a heart. 

“Oh, hi, I mean,” she added. “You’re here. And no one told me.”

Scanlan walked out from the other side of the kitchen island. “Just got in. You look great.”

“You look pretty—real good. Handsome.”

“Oh my goodness, did you two crazy kids color coordinate?” Gilmore said.

“Gross,” Kash said, over Pike’s shoulder.

“No, we didn’t. It’s weird,” Pike said and then shook her head. “I mean it’s neat! But I didn’t know you were gonna be sparkled too. Or glitzy, whatever. I mean…”

“Happy accident,” Scanlan said, definitely feeling a little weird too.

Pike nodded, staring at Scanlan’s blue suede shoes.

On one hand, blue was the most wearable color in western fashion after black, hearts were incredibly common imagery, and sparkly things were attractive. On the other, he hardly ever wore blue, his heart tie clip was the only thing he owned with a heart on it, and he’d never seen Pike wear sparkly blue shoes before.

They looked like a couple and it felt like Scanlan’s heart was expanding in his chest.

“Even grosser,” Kash said.

“It’s adorable,” Vex said.

Kiki and Vax immediately agreed and Grog groaned. “They’re matchy matchy. Big deal. Let’s get going. We’re gonna need like, three cars. Who’s driving besides me?”

A sudden hectic patter dominated the room on whose car and who should go in what car that Scanlan couldn’t participate in as a constant captive passenger. Somehow in the rush he got swept into Vex’s car, which was fine, without Pike, which was less fine. He navigated the onslaught of inevitable personal questions pretty well, keeping it vague and PG. He suspected separating him and Pike into different cars had been deliberate and it made him cagey.

Vex probably got the gist of him not appreciating the subterfuge when at one point he started demonstrating some magic tricks—a transparent stonewall that always worked. No one wanted to continue to chat in any level of seriousness with some doofus doing magic tricks.

Once they arrived, spilling out of their cars, Scanlan tried not to get to Pike too quickly. She hopped down from Grog’s SUV and came up close to him.

“You didn’t get interrogated too bad, did you?”

“She was about to bust out the brass knuckles, but my lawyer sprung me just in time.”

Pike’s nose wrinkled as she laughed. “Well, that’s not too bad. As long as your face is okay.”

She linked arms with him and they went inside, a little behind everyone. But it only took a few seconds of walking inside Maximilian’s before Scanlan was spotted.

There was a gasp and the unmistakable voice from the hostess station and colliding with him in a hug. “Scanlan, darling!” 

He blew her hair away from his mouth. “Hi, Zahra.”

She pinched his cheek, which he had sort of expected, but actually his face, like an aging Auntie. “You evil little man. I haven’t seen you in ages! Where have you been hiding? What have you been doing all this time? How are you, darling? You look thin. Are you well? How’s your mother? How’s darling Kaylie?”

Scanlan pushed away a little, aware of Pike still arm in arm and the wonderfully overbearing Zahra in both their space. “Ah-hah, oh boy, It’s good to see you too, Z. I’m good… These are some friends of mine I brought to see The Grin. Everybody, this is Zahra. She’s the manager at Maximilian’s.”

Zahra leaned back and took a look around at the group like she was seeing them for the first time, at Pike and then a lot more at Vex. “One of the many reasons we’ve missed you here, Scanlan. You always bring the most interesting and attractive people,” she said, winking at Vex.

A little more banter—Zahra was basically unstoppable—and a promise to catch up with her soon, she brought them to a table.

“I’ll go tell Dr. D you’re here,” she said, just about to leave.

“That’s not—You don’t need to bother him.”

“Nonsense,” she said and did leave before Scanlan could argue.

He took a deep breath. Pike pressed into his side a bit in the big L-shaped booth they’d been herded into by the bar. Scanlan took the seat on one edge, letting everyone else pile in the middle. He didn’t know if it was because he felt like he was going to be confronted by more people or was just comforted by the idea of being able to leave first.

“So this is your old stomping ground.”

Scanlan shrugged uncomfortably. “Maybe.”

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno. Maybe not anymore.”

Pike tightened her arm around his. “Your friend seemed pretty happy to see you.”

Scanlan nodded. He hadn’t really thought about that. He didn’t really expect someone he wasn’t that close to like Zahra to slap him across the face, but there were other people who would probably not be pleased to see him. He was still a little more concerned with his discomfort in having to explain himself, or avoid explaining himself.

They ordered drinks, Keyleth and her two Engineering friends introduced themselves more to the group, the topic of his shows at The Sun Tree came up until another unmistakable voice started calling for him.

Not knowing what to expect, Scanlan started to stand up and found himself pulled into another hug, sort of suffocating into Dranzel’s chest.

“Scan-laaaan! My boy! How are ya, kid?”

Scanlan was quickly man-handled from the hug with a vigorous back-pat to his face being squeezed again and slapped in that friendly way big middle-aged guys like Dranzel did. It was dizzying and not just because Scanlan was small and delicate.

He hesitated. This was not what he was imagining when they’d talked on the phone.

Apparently unfazed by Scanlan’s what-the-fuck face, Dranzel went on, squeezing his shoulder. “Looking pretty good. I’m glad you could make it. We got a good set lined up. Some old standards, you know. You’ve manned the mic for Mo-Town Night.”

Scanlan nodded, confused. “Yeah, I, uh…”

Dranzel squeezed his shoulder again, but softer. “I talked to your moms last week. Good to hear you guys are doing good these days.”

For a split second his body froze up. Dranzel probably knew about rehab then. Then again, Dranzel had been in the music business since his youth—he probably had guessed Scanlan was spiraling back into drug use before Scanlan was totally aware what he’d been doing. But he didn’t seem angry at all. In fact Dranzel’s eyes were sort of wary. As far as Scanlan knew gentle hints weren’t part of Dranzel’s style, but that’s what he was doing.

“Yeah, feeling a lot better these days,” Scanlan said as quietly as he could under the circumstances.

“Good, good.” He let go of Scanlan finally and gestured widely to the table. “What occasion brings you fine folks out tonight?”

“Nothing special. We’re just out here to see The Grin,” Scanlan said, proceeding to introduce everyone, but lingering enough on Pike that Dranzel shot him A Look.

Dranzel winked and said to the rest of the table. “You kids are in for it. My boy can really hold a stage.”

Scanlan’s entire body clenched. Dranzel thought he was doing him a favor. “Wait, what?”

Continuing to ignore him for the table, who were now all various starting to look excited at his imminent demise, Dranzel added, “I saw him do a cover of ‘Because The Night’ at nineteen that _murdered_ that concert hall.”

“That’s not necessary, Dr. D,” Scanlan said, trying not to sound desperate to avoid this. “I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes.”

“Nah, nah, no problem. I’ll talk to Emelda. Get you in on the set. You’ve done it dozens of times. It’s Mo-Town Night. No problem at all.”

“Thanks, Dra, but,” Scanlan couldn’t say anymore before getting another bone-rattling clap on the shoulder.

“You got it. Gotta head back; get ready. See you on stage, baby boy.”

And he walked off at a gleeful pace that suggested that maybe if he wasn’t mad at Scanlan, he might not be above being pleased about getting back at him for leaving Dranzel twisting in the wind a few times. He had not in any way planned on performing, especially at a bigger and more formal venue than what he’d been doing at The Sun Tree. But he probably deserved it—the unpaid gig and the sudden onset of responsibility.

Scanlan dropped back down into the booth.

“You’re gonna get on stage?” Grog said excitedly. “Fucking cool.”

“Wonderful,” Vex said. “We’ll finally really get to see you in action.”

Scanlan nodded half-heartedly. After a few comments died down and answering some questions about the band, Pike whispered to him, “You’re okay with it, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

“We can leave any time if you’re not. You don’t need to go up there if you’re not ready.”

A flush of warmth ran through him. “You’d leave with me?”

“Of course.”

Even though they were touching side to side, Scanlan felt it was suddenly imperative he be alongside Pike as much as humanly possible. The warmth was making him a little light-headed, but he squeezed her hand under the table. She squeezed back and rested their joined hands on her thigh.

The idea that if he couldn’t handle being put back on stage for the first time in so long, or more like the sudden sweet rush of attention, he wouldn’t have to walk away alone was ungodly satisfying. It was like something cracked in his chest, but instead of pain there was just the slow release of pressure. It made him feel like the option to leave made the necessity to leave—the frequent jonesing agitation he felt to just fucking flee—less necessary.

“Okay,” he said, feeling his shoulders start to relax for the first time all night. “I’m good now. I can do it.”

“Alright,” she whispered. “Just let me know if you change your mind.”

Scanlan spaced out a little in the interim. He knew the night was largely an excuse for Pike’s friends to investigate him and he should’ve been on the charm offensive, but he was mostly just thinking about The Golden Grin’s usual Mo-Town Night sets and what kind of rote choreography he could use and how he was going to absolutely bomb.

Scanlan had, in his life, turned to drugs both when he thought he was hot shit and when he thought he was shit. So strangely, there was a manic feeling of freedom in thinking he might not be good enough to perform again. The fear of what might happen later was still there, of course. But if doing a perfect job could lead to the same end as doing a terrible one, he felt like he was on equal footing with his fear for the first time. He might not need to outrun it; he could maybe face it head on and win.

It was a lot to have running through the back of his head when really all he needed to do was sing a song in front fewer than a hundred people.

Knowing Pike would leave with him if he asked, though, kept his breathing even. It was weird how staying was easier when he felt like leaving was an okay thing to do.

Too quickly, The Golden Grin started their set and they moved away from the bar to watch. They opened with _Papa Was a Rollin’ Stone_ , then a girl group medley, and an original Soul instrumental Dranzel wrote. The Golden Grin was Dranzel’s genre sprawling fusion centered collaborative work of art. There were a few regulars in the band, but mostly lots of add-ons. On Motown Night, or a funk or soul set, there was a large horn section—two trumpeters, a bass sax, and Dr. D and another guy on tenor sax. A big guy on drums Scanlan didn’t know and a piano player tucked into the corner of the crowded stage. Kent on bass guitar, and a familiar looking woman he didn’t remember on rhythm. Emelda had been another lead singer for The Grin on engagements Scanlan didn’t take, accompanied by two backup singers in glittering gold dresses.

Emelda had better tonal quality than he did as a singer, but Scanlan had been a good counterpoint because he had presence. He gave a show and over the top emotion, and crowds found it hard to resist him as a result.

Scanlan watched knowing he couldn’t recreate that, not to the level he used to, and Dranzel probably wouldn’t want to hire him back. Scanlan didn’t even know if he wanted that but he felt too different now—too cerebral or distracted or nervous. And that would normally make him want to run and avoid trying altogether.

Yet when Dranzel started his banter after the instrumental, Scanlan was not going to run away, even if he couldn’t compete with himself. Even if he couldn’t be the performer he used to be, or thought he used to be.

Dranzel smiled from behind his mic, gold eye teeth glinting and Stevie Wonder style dreads tied back, sax in hand, pinstripe suit, looking like he manifested into the world fully formed as a middle aged soul musician.

“Well folks, I wanna treat y’all tonight to a little surprise. Some of you may know the name, some of you just may know him as a little man with a big, big voice. Scanlan Levy, everybody. Come on up here, kid.”

There was some polite clapping, but a loud chorus of _whoo_ and wolf whistle from Grog and Pike, and maybe even Vex and Vax, next to him.

Scanlan jumped onto the stage, testing out his knee, not quite sure how the dancing would fair, if at all, and predicted there wouldn’t be any more stage jumps or knee slides happening tonight. He nodded to Emelda, who’d moved aside to the backup singers, and clapped hands with Dranzel.

He said, away from the mic, “I’m turning 30 in a few weeks. Calling me kid just makes you look old.”

Dranzel just laughed and tousled his hair.

Scanlan turned towards his mic, and for the first time in a long time, faced a crowd.

He couldn’t really see faces, just bodies. And there were enough that he couldn’t place where he’d just been standing with Pike’s friends. He wrapped his hands around the mic and the stand and closed his eyes.

“Dressed to kill, ready to slay, whaddya think about some Edwin Starr, boyo? [Twenty-five Miles](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WP7YFFUs4Kw&list=RDWP7YFFUs4Kw)?”

High energy, big voice, big sound. Scanlan looked down at his boots. It probably should have struck his notice earlier he was dressed for a song like that, for doing exactly this. He snapped the mic out of the stand and turned back to Dranzel with a thumbs up.

The band chattered and started to move into the next song. Some papers were shuffled and keys were fingered. Scanlan breathed in deep from his diaphragm. He stayed turned away from the crowd, waiting for the music.

Then the drums started rolling and the singers started clapping and the piano trilled. His feet started tapping the beat. The brass chorused.

And he took the music into himself.

And let the song out.

Scanlan had always tried to have a big voice, a big personality, whenever he performed, but being surrounded by a big band demanded it. He could feel his lungs and chest expanding. He could feel the projection of his voice and knew when to extend it. So different than the way he’d been testing the waters at The Sun Tree, but his body remembered this too. Music cascaded behind him; ceiling spots and floor lights whirled in front of him.

He didn’t open his eyes until the first few bars of music had passed and he was feeling his voice. When he did a spot circled from the back of the room and he saw it halo Pike’s platinum hair and her white sweater lit up in the dark. She was bouncing on her feet and waving. And the music hit him like a baseball bat. He felt it rip through him bone deep.

“ _But I got a woman waiting for me, that’s gonna make this trip worthwhile. She’s got the kind of lovin and a kissing, that make a man go stone wild._ ”

The song flew by faster than he expected after that, not just because it was hot, up-tempo.

That made the dancing easier. He wasn’t his mother and, spur of the moment, it wasn’t like he had a routine. But he had spent an entire childhood in off stage at Juniper’s performances and in Juniper’s music rooms, occasionally forced to be one of the handful of boys doing pirouettes and cha chas, so he could connect a ball change and a slide into something that felt right.

He made it around the limited space on the stage, visiting with all the band, playing up the sound. He danced with the backup singers, one of whom got pretty into it with him.

All the while looking out and finding Pike glowing in the crowd.

“ _Although my feet are tired I can’t lose my stride, I got to get to my baby again._ ”

When he finished he was a little sweaty and light on his feet, feeling the applause and some overzealous shouts ride over him. It was good. It was loud. It filled up his body like his blood was carbonated.

There was a second there he didn’t want to let go of the mic, but he wasn’t riding the high so bad he forgot that would be a shitty thing to do to Emelda. Dranzel did get him to stay up for the next song, _Nowhere to Run_ , but he stuck with the backup singers, shaking a tambourine and doing his best Vandellas impression. He wound mimicking the new backup girl’s moves for a laugh. When she noticed she put him through a 60s dance cycle—a pony and a twist, the nitty gritty, the mashed potato. It was just a lot of fun.

It had been some time since he’d just had fun on a stage.

But he when they started to transition to the next song, Scanlan kept thinking of ways he could pull attention to himself and what song he’d lead into, so figured that was a good cue to leave. He leapt off the stage, with total strangers clapping him on the back and giving him more applause. It was weird and sort of lost amid the blood pounding in his neck. He felt so airy he would’ve thought he didn’t have any bones if not for the electric twinge of his bad knee.

He made a beeline for Pike, but whatever she started to say was lost in everyone else’s words, all piling around him at the same time. The part of his brain that had been playing up for people’s attention since he was three was racing to catalog the praise, but another part just wanted to walk away with Pike.

“Do you want to go get a drink?” He half-yelled over the din of the band’s next song.

She nodded and they stepped into the quieter, more solid space of the bar. Pike flagged the bartender and ordered a beer. “What do you want?”

Scanlan shook his head. “I just wanted to get out of there for a second.”

A soft smile curved over her lips. “You were great up there, Scanlan. You must’ve done that song a bunch. Your voice was really… I liked it a lot.”

He took a deep breath and shrugged, but he really liked that. He could stand to hear her voice get soft and earnest like that, like she was telling a secret, a few hundred more times. That voice while giving him a compliment? Lethal.

He felt should’ve given her a disclaimer, a warning. She ought to be more careful with praising him. He was like a street cat or a raccoon or something. Give him even a scrap and he never wanted to leave.

“Good, good, good, good.” He bit his lip to stop talking.

“Is everything okay?” For no reason, she reached out and straightened his tie, tweaking the heart-shaped tie pin. He watched the heart glint off her heart necklace. 

A light from the concert floor spun around again and lit up the tips of her hair blue. “I saw you from the stage,” he blurted.

“You did?”

He grazed the sleeve of her fluffy sweater. “You kind of glow.”

It wasn’t very bright near the bar either, but he saw her cheeks darken. And it totally sent him from walking the edge of stupid and romantic to leaping over it.

“Looking at you makes me want to sing. You make me want to make music. I was only any good because I was watching you. I love you.”

Her face froze into such a perfect deer-in-the-headlights look he laughed a little, even as his stomach fell. This was exactly what he’d been afraid of. Sometimes his level of want was too much for him to handle; of course it was too much for someone he’d only been dating a few weeks. And it wasn’t even half of what he wanted to say. There was much more detail and desire to divulge.

As her silence dragged on, he had a bunch of impulses to undercut what he said. To say he was all wrapped up in endorphins, to lie and say he said that kind of thing whenever he performed. To make it _less_.

“You don’t need to say anything,” he said instead. “You don’t have to do anything. I just… had to say it.”

“Scanlan, I… How can I not say anything?”

“You can say anything you like. You just shouldn’t feel like you have to, if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t want to argue with you about your feelings, but… ho—what do you? You don’t know me that well.”

“I think I know you pretty well. I think we know each other pretty well. We haven’t known each other very _long_ ,” he said. “I don’t know if that means much though. Sybil and I have known each other half our lives and I still don’t understand who she is. You’re clear to me. I don’t know if I can explain how I know, but I do.”

“It’s… That’s a lot to handle.” She shook her head, looking pained. “That’s not what I meant. It’s big, it’s important, is what I mean.”

“I know. Look, Pike, I didn’t intend to do this to you when I asked you out. Hell, I didn’t intend to do this three minutes ago. I do a lot of things without thinking. And I know I’m not in a, uh, steady place in my life. But I’ve done a lot of stupid things and a lot of self-destructive things, and I don’t think that this is one of them, even if I just scared you off. I don’t expect you to feel the same way, or even to continue dating me because I’m fully aware of how intense it is to hear that. And… you are important.”

Pike was flustered and he felt bad, but wasn’t totally confident he was doing the right thing. He was confident of how he felt though. If Pike was going to break up with him or need time alone, well it was going to suck, but he could deal with it so long as they could still be friends.

That being said, he really didn’t want to test those waters.

“I— I need some time to think. About that. And how to respond.”

“Yeah. No, I get it.”

“Okay,” she said uneasily.

There was a long time where Pike looked between him and her beer bottle, worrying her lip and not speaking. He wanted to break the tension and knew it was his obligation to break the tension, but he sincerely doubted that was a bell he could unring.

Finally, he said, “Should we got back in there?” Because then at least there would be more sound.

She nodded distractedly.

And he figured Pike would ignore him as much as possible for the rest of the night, but she didn’t really. She didn’t say much, for sure, but she did stand near him. She kept looking at him, not looking away when their eyes met, almost like she was concerned, or like she was trying to decipher a puzzle. Honestly he spent a lot of time looking at himself the same way. 

The rest of the show wasn’t very long but passed glacially slow. And because it’s the course his life usually took, now on the way home Vex ushered Pike and Scanlan into the back of Grog’s SUV together. So they sat next to each other, very close but not actually touching. Luckily Grog didn’t seem to notice and he kept talking about the show and about work. When they piled out of the car, Grog must’ve had a sudden burst of intuitive realization when he saw Pike and Scanlan being obviously silent and awkward at each other.

“Oh, uh, night. I’ll see you, whenever,” and almost jogged to the door of the 200 building.

For a long moment Pike looked like she was about to speak, but couldn’t or didn’t.

Scanlan cleared his throat. “Sorry I ruined your night.”

“No. You didn’t.”

“I made it awkward for you. And I’m sorry.”

“Scanlan,” she said in the weighty tone of voice that usually preceded a break up.

“Just promise me you’ll keep talking to me,” he rushed in to say. “I understand you want your space and everything, just don’t… stop talking to me for forever.”

There were a lot of facial acrobatics going on before she simply spat out. “What?”

“I need—I really want to stay friends with you.”

A soft and almost sweet frown tugged at her lips. She touched the inside of his forearm and slid her fingers down to his hand, and took it closer to her. “Oh, Scanlan. Of course you’re my friend. I’m not going to stop talking to you. I do like you a lot, but you… You’re kind of like a whirlwind sometimes. You have all this energy and passion. I’m not like that. I need… time. To think about what everything means for us. That’s all.”

“Oh,” Scanlan said, starting to feel his heart slow down a little. “Oh, that’s fine. That’s good!”

She looked at him a little dubiously. “Well, okay. I’m glad you feel that way.”

It wasn’t a win, but it wasn’t a total failure either. Scanlan had worked against much worse odds before.

Pike hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. Her sparkly blue skirt and shoes glimmered more as she walked closer to her building alone.

Scanlan walked back to his apartment, thinking.

It was a strange time in his life in strange circumstances that he didn’t feel desperate for something. He didn’t feel the desperate need to get himself back in the easiest and most favorable position to Pike’s affections. He didn’t feel in desperate want of any distraction to make him feel good. There was still a lot of want inside him—to be with Pike, to be a better father, to be better to himself, to get people to love him, to be praised, the things he’d always wanted. There was ache and worry about how to get them.

But he was strangely calm settled into his bones. Like the want wouldn’t consume him. Like he could actually wait. Like he had all the time in the world.

There was every possibility that his calm would evaporate in the next day but he supposed he’d just have to wait and find out.

It was like he was partly outside himself, marveling at how adult he was being. He undressed for bed, brushed his teeth, put his clothes away, and even set out sheet music for the morning’s lesson with Kaylie. And he went to sleep like it was any other day.

And woke up not a lot later half in panic at an accusing, ringing blare cutting through his head.

He instinctively grabbed his phone, but it only glowed an innocuous clock face that said it was 2:49 AM. The sleepy moon icon was particularly incongruous with the noise seemingly emanating from everywhere around him. Which was the door buzzer. And at this time of night, made it an emergency sound. He ran out of his apartment and down to the lobby accosted with thoughts of Kaylie injured and his mother crying and hospital sirens.

Instead he found a very alert looking Pike standing in the lobby.

She was dressed for sleep, wearing yellow pajama pants covered in cartoon cups of coffee and a gray top that said “Need More Sleep.” Her makeup was off and her fuzzy slippers were on. She was holding a piece of paper.

“What’s going on?”

She thrust the paper at him. “I couldn’t sleep. So I thought about what you said. Or I was thinking about what you said so I couldn’t sleep.”

There was a very brief note in his hands. He couldn’t latch onto the words. His mind could barely tell what was happening wasn’t an inconvenient dream. He looked at the lined notebook paper while his brain caught up with him. It looked pretty wrinkled and had erased pencil smears all over it.

> Scanlan,
> 
> I care for you a lot. I can’t come up with the words to say how sad I’d be if you couldn’t be a part of my life. I don’t know if that means I love you. I don’t know when I can say something like that. But I do know I don’t want to spend any time without you.
> 
> You are important too.

Scanlan looked up to see Pike chewing on her lip, staring at him. “What happened to time?” was all he could think to say right away. 

“Turns out I didn’t have much to think over,” she said.

“So, what does this mean? At three in the morning?”

Pike looked like she was mulling over her thoughts. “It means I couldn’t wait to see you and talk to you. And it means I want to be with you and everything you feel.”

Simply due to his capacity to fuck up good things, Scanlan bit his tongue. He didn’t trust himself to say anything to make this go away.

“It also means,” she added, “I don’t want to hurt you. With my indecision. I _do_ care for you so much, I just—“

“You don’t need to feel the same way, Pike. And I know you wouldn’t.”

“I’m less sure. But that’s why I’m here. I want this to work. I want it to keep going and grow, however it grows.”

A nervously happy laugh escaped Scanlan’s mouth. “That’s… that’s more than I could ask for.”

In a flash, Pike threw her arms around him and her note was trapped between their kiss. His back collided with the door he’d come through. One hand snaked around Pike’s waist, trying to bring her closer even though they were completely aligned. As they continued to kiss and push back against the door that was definitely all the way shut, Scanlan had to reluctantly pull away from her lips.

“Um, Pike?”

“What?” she said a little dazed, reaching her fingers around the waistband of Scanlan’s boxers.

“I didn’t bring my key. I’m locked out.”

“Oh.”

“Which will be a problem for me eventually.”

“Well we can go over to my—oh no.”

There was a sinking obviousness to Pike’s not-well-hidden look of _oops_. “Did you forget your key too?”

Pike’s mouth thinned into a frown. “I was very distracted.”

There was a long second where they just looked at each other without letting go. Scanlan, for his part, was busy debating the merits of sleeping in the lobby, which was cold since fall had kicked in, versus buzzing Kima and Allura to let him in, the only people in the building he knew well enough to ask but would surely murder him for buzzing them at three in the morning.

“Grog’s not gonna be happy,” Pike worried aloud.

“It’s either pissing off Grog or Kima. Or possibly sleeping in the lobby if you’re feeling adventurous.”

Pike looked at him warily. “Grog it is.”

The run to the other apartment was brief, but very cold and possibly fraught with peril, as Scanlan was equipped with only boxers and a cell phone. Pike rubbed his arms to warm him up as they waited for Grog to let them in.

He stood for a moment like a door-sized sentry, glaring at them with bleary, angry eyes. “You’re fucking idiots,” he said.

But Pike’s soft, cheerful, “I know, I’m sorry, I love you, buddy,” got him to mutter out a rueful and resigned, “It’s alright.”

Grog disappeared into his room a second after they walked in. Scanlan was about make what was sure to be a very witty, self-deprecating offer to sleep on the couch, but it died on his tongue when Pike took his hand and walked him past the living room and down the hallway to her room. 

Scanlan had stepped into her room once or twice, as she was getting ready or looking for her shoes. This was different. This was bedroom-at-night. Only one small lamp on the bedside table was on. Her glittery skirt was thrown carelessly in over a chair arm. The teddy bear she got when she volunteered for the International Medical Corps was sticking out of a hamper instead of sitting at the foot of the bed. 

Pike had not let go of his hand, so he was forced to sit on the bed next to her. 

He cleared his throat. “I see Dr. Bearington has been removed. Malpractice?” 

Pike rolled her eyes a little, but her cheeks started to look a little warm. “I have a confession.” 

“Oh?” 

“I was planning on bringing you back here all along. When I was getting ready for the show earlier.” 

“Oh.” 

It hadn’t really occurred to Scanlan that Pike might want to fuck him. Really desire it, at least. Not in the way he wanted. Or he’d thought. 

“Probably not like this, then.”

“Well, I didn’t think I’d have your clothes off so soon.” 

Scanlan laughed. “That sounds like something I’d say.” 

Pike shrugged and pulled his hand along over to her. “We don’t have entirely different goals.” 

He hesitated as she leaned back with him in tow. “This has been a really emotionally tolling evening, so I just want to be sure. Is this more like intense make out sessions like we’ve been doing or more like--”

“Orgasms.” 

“Okay, fair enough.” 

“Is that what you want right now? I’m not going anywhere. We can wait if it’s been a rough night for you.” 

“Pike, I want everything you want to give me.” 

She smiled, and her hands traced over his shoulders, pulling him down all the way to the mattress with her. “Okay,” she said. “Fair enough.” 

Later on, Scanlan didn’t remember much of how their first time went. It was more like glimpses of things he’d wanted to live in-- way her fingernails raked over his scalp, the feel of her vulva on his mouth, her thighs wrapped around him, the way she breathed when she came. There was simply too much he wanted to know and touch and feel ingrained on his skin and his mind for it all to stick. There was too much he wanted to do for her. He hadn’t been lying when he said everything. And there was no way to impart a fraction of what he wanted in one night. Fortunately, he got more opportunities in the future to brand her voice and her touch and the feel of her body inside him. 

It wasn’t magically perfect but it was soft, and nice. There was the comfort of knowing there was more to explore together. 

They fell asleep breathing in each other’s skin. And Scanlan slept more deeply than he had in awhile. 

Until he woke in half a panic to a very alarming sound--Sybil’s ringtone. He didn’t like missing calls from Sybil on principle. It always turned out badly for him. 

Scanlan had to curl out of Pike’s arms and reach for his phone on the table. Except it wasn’t his bed, so he had to reach farther than usual and cast himself off the side of the bed. 

“Yes. Hello,” he said, trying clear out his sleep-voice and sound like he hadn’t literally just rolled out of bed. 

“Where the hell are you?” 

“Shit, is it ten?” 

“Yeah.”

“Shit!”

“Did you forget your daughter’s violin practice?” 

“Ehh.” Scanlan tried to scramble to his feet to look for his clothes before he remembered that he didn’t have any clothes on when he came over. “Not in the sense that I forgot. But yes I did forget in the sense that I slept in.” 

There was a quiet groan on the other end. “Where are you?” 

Pike, who was definitely also awake and slightly alarmed, pointed wildly at her closet and possibly mouthed the words, “take my clothes.” That or “make bi glows,” but that seemed unlikely. 

“I’m at Pike’s.” 

“Oh,” she said in an inscrutably dry shift of tone. “The girlfriend. I see.” 

“I will be there in literally one minute.” 

“You forgot about your daughter in favor of sleeping at your new girlfriend’s place.” 

“No, no!” Scanlan said, grabbing the first t-shirt with sleeves he found and shoving it over his head. “I did not forget. If you’re in my apartment, you will see there’s sheet music set out. I didn’t forget… I lost track of time. Because of complications. We got locked outside at three in the morning and there were intense feelings. It was very hectic. Anybody would sleep in.” 

“You got locked out because of feelings?” 

“I mean… yeah.” After another louder groan, Scanlan pulled his arm through the right shirt hole this time and put the phone back to his ear. “And if you’ll kindly remember, Pike lives less than fifty yards from me, so I’ll be there in actually less than a minute because now I’m wearing a shirt.” 

“Ugh, just get over here, Scanlan.” 

And she hung up before he could assure her that he would. 

“I really gotta go,” he said, scrambling over to Pike for a kiss, still feeling like he should be trying to find his pants. 

“I heard,” she said, sitting up. “Let me get dressed. I’ll come with you.” 

“You don’t need to do that.” Scanlan was taken aback. Like a Victorian lady. Maybe Pike didn’t know or didn’t care, but Sybil was formidable. “Sybil is…” 

“Your ex,” she said, already shimmying into a pair of yoga pants snatched from somewhere under the bed. “And your daughter’s mother. I can’t avoid her forever. But it’s my fault you got locked out and slept in. I want to apologize.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. We’re in this together.” 

Warmth hit him like a punch and spread through his chest. He could feel the dopey smile forming as he followed Pike out the door. 

Whatever they were heading for, they were in it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~*~
> 
>  
> 
> i sincerely hope that was worth the long wait between chapters and that everyone who's been kind enough to show interest in the past will come back for a read. there's only one more chapter left and this story has meant so much to me, partly because of critical role, partly because of the content, and a lot because of the wonderful, wonderful comments i've received in this story. i really hope this chapter lived up for you. 
> 
> thanks to my fic wife tameila for her judicious help and encouraging words. <3 
> 
> now for the songs of note:  
> -i picked the title from [because the night](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VF6F0kBGYiY) by patti smith bc it was briefly mentioned as a song Dranzel saw Scanlan perform as a young man  
> -[papa was a rolling stone](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jzly6jrepRU)  
> -[twenty-five miles](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WP7YFFUs4Kw&list=RDWP7YFFUs4Kw) by edwin starr  
> -and the song where scanlan is dancing and shaking the tambourine with a backup singer, [nowhere to run](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RQRIOKvR2WM) by martha and the vandellas
> 
>  
> 
> hope you enjoyed!! <3


	12. the book of love has music in it, in fact that's where music comes from

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little inspired by [this post](http://jabletown.tumblr.com/post/161435039963/shorthalt-shorthalt-critical-role-au-where)\-- apartment block vm modern au
> 
> Pike considers love. Some of it is transcendental. Some of it's just really dumb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE DID IT Y'ALL!!! 
> 
> By we I mean I did it. I finished this final chapter in just FIVE SHORT MONTHS after the last one. What an achievement. 
> 
> Seriously tho, this story has meant a lot to me. It has let me work out some feelings I'd never been able to work out through other characters. It has resulted in some of the most amazing, most encouraging comments of support I've ever received as a fic writer. And while I had a spate of writer's block since the last update, I felt responsible for this story in way I have never felt about a fanfic before. So thank you all very much for that. 
> 
> And also by we did it I mean, Sam and Ashley. Because while it's been months since the Vox Machina arc ended (a fact I'm still kind of coping with), they gave us a great, complex relationship that inspired this meager attempt to write how I feel about it. So praise be to the long game and the slow burn. They really fucking did it right. I started this fic as a fluffy reprieve for a relationship I thought might not get any ending at all, and they turned it into a complete as well as happy one. I'm still in awe. 
> 
> But anyway, I'm sad their arc is finished. And I'm sad this story is finished now. But I really appreciate you all going through it with me. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy. 
> 
>  
> 
> ~*~

10 Months Later 

 

 

Maybe it was actually something in the air. Wedding air. 

The sunlight streaming from the tall windows. The rings, the bells, the celebratory decorations. The combined happiness and expectation of the visitors creating a rumbling, anticipatory flood of nameless emotions. 

She was just one of those sappy people who cried at weddings. Even weddings for people she didn’t know that well, though there was something special and a little personal about _this_ one. She looked around at the other smiling faces. Maybe they agreed. 

Grog leaned over her shoulder and whispered into her ear, “You got some snot going. Left nostril.” 

Pike snatched a tissue out of her bra and blew her nose and then dabbed her eyes. “Thanks, Grog.” 

He mumbled something and rolled his shoulders uncomfortably, as he frequently did whenever he had to wear a suit jacket. 

Maybe it was the sound, Pike thought as she sniffed again. Excited whispers, and the soft warm pleading sound of the violin vibrating all the way up to the ceiling. Then as that song slowed to a finish, there was a pregnant pause and new melody started low and then soared over the small crowd of people. 

From either side of the back of the room, Kima and Allura walked forward to the dais in the front, where the officiant was waiting with a smile. Everyone stopped talking and started taking pictures. And Scanlan, in his little corner in the front by a robust white and blue flower arrangement, played _The Marriage of Figaro_ on his violin. 

Pike knew the pieces inside and out at this point, hearing Scanlan practice it every day for the last two weeks. Seeing Kima and Allura stand next to each other, clearly oblivious to everything around them but each other was enchanting and lovely. Still, she couldn’t help but let her focus wander to the corner, to his fingers adjusting key and his head moving with the stroke of his bow. The music was chosen by Allura, a consummate supporter of her university’s classical orchestra and maybe the only person in the Emon Towers apartment complex who liked Scanlan’s playing as much as Pike. 

It was for the wedding, but with the familiarity in the notes, hearing them these past weeks as Pike showered or ate breakfast or played card games with Kaylie, Pike felt a bit like it was a little bit hers as well. 

The last note hummed to a close and the officiant started talking about friendship and love and commitment. Allura and Kima held hands and gave their vows, which were in turns eloquent and simple but full of love. They put their rings on each other and cried. Pike cried, more. Everyone cried. 

 

The new brides walked out of the hall, with giddy smiles that made Pike cry a little more than she already had been, to a livelier than typical rendition of Pachelbel’s _Canon in D_.

Pike and Grog slowly made their way after the other attendants, behind Vax and Gilmore, but a bit ahead of Vex, Percy, and Tary, down the receiving line. It gave her a lot of time to think. About Kima’s finely tailored tuxedo and Allura’s glittering, gorgeous dress. About the joy radiating off of them that Pike could see from yards away. About the quieting strains of violin strings as the hall emptied. 

About how excited she’d been for them but simultaneously almost didn’t want to go. 

She couldn’t explain that part. The past few days approaching the wedding had been strange. Before that she went through far too many days of trying out dresses--way too much deliberation and fuss for someone who was just a guest. And she kept seeing wedding gifts or magazines for brides in stores and nearly crying there on the spot. 

Pike didn’t want to linger in the receiving line--Kima and Allura seemed a little dazed and flustered--even though she secretly had so many questions. Did they feel different now? Did the ceremony of exchanging rings make them feel calm now, like they’d been waiting for years for this to happen and was now a breath of relief? Or did they feel as they always had, but in very expensive, pretty outfits and a few thousand dollars in debt? Was that something no one would know for sure until weeks or years later? 

Obviously her selfish thoughts were too demanding, too intimate. And she didn’t want to think about why she was consumed with them in the first place. 

So she hugged the newly minted brides and told them they were beautiful and that she’d wanted to dance with both of them at the party. 

Without needing to be told, Grog and Pike somehow formed a post-wedding waiting group outside with Vex, Vax, Gilmore, Percy, and Tary. Vex and Pike talked at length over Allura’s dress. Comments were made about the beauty of the vows and the floral arrangements. Grog very manfully pretended he wasn’t already achingly bored. 

Everyone except Pike and Grog departed for the reception at the bar-- a compromise Kima and Allura made for their friends. The “reception” was supposed quiet cool down from the wedding while still continuing the celebration, as opposed to the original idea of no party at all. Between a full on reception hall with private catering and nothing, the middle ground was a low key but celebratory get together at a regular bar in their circulation called The Circled Square, another bar they’d gotten to know through Scanlan’s performances. There was scarcely a bar or club in town that Scanlan didn’t have some knowledge of. Although it was limitedly helpful considering Scanlan’s opinions on what made a bar or club a good place to be had more to do with acoustics, lighting, and stage equipment than the price of booze or atmosphere. But this one had made it into the group’s routine by being a hit on all those counts. 

Finally, as more and more people left for their cars, Scanlan came out the doors with a loud contented, “My people!” He jogged up to Pike and Grog, holding his violin case in one hand and wringing out the cramp of the other hand. He kissed Pike on the cheek. 

“So are we ready for the pub?” 

Grog groaned loudly and immediately started taking off his tie. “Yes!” 

Pike patted his shoulder and linked arms with Scanlan. “You did a good job of holding it together, Grog.” 

Scanlan cleared his throat not at all subtly. 

“And you played really well, old man.” 

Scanlan preened, looking very cat-like. “All I ask for is copious amounts of praise and adoration.” 

Pike shook her head. There was Scanlan-with-an-audience and Scanlan-without-an-audience, and sometimes the audience was only Grog and Pike but he could certainly play up the diva act when he thought it would amuse. She was sure the times he actually needed validation for his performance versus the times he was pretending for effect were balanced on a razor wire. In his blue and pink suit, somehow managing to make the pastel flowers as vibrant as pastel can be, it was hard to tell which way he was tipping. 

“You’ll get that when you finally finish My Song.” 

“It’s coming. It’s coming along.” 

Pike laughed and looked at him owlishly, which made him laugh. It was a bit of a joke between them all. The Song, or Pike’s Song, was distinguished from other songs. It was the song Scanlan promised to write for Pike when they first started dating. Scanlan had written other songs for Pike, but always with the disclaimer that they weren’t The Song. No, he wasn’t finished with that one yet. At this point, he’d explained several times, probably twice a month, that he started with disambiguous thoughts and poetry, and by the time he felt ready to transcribe it to melody, Pike did something even more fantastic and he had to reconsider his entire outlook on her.

It was usually a slightly more dramatic explanation when Scanlan gave it and it somehow always ended in Pike kissing him.

“This draft has a focus on subparticle communication and the body. Like,” he paused abruptly to run the back of his hand up Pike’s forearm. She shivered involuntarily and he smiled wide. “That’s a dialog. Skin to skin.” 

Pike felt her own smile come from deep in her belly. “This draft sounds a little conceptual. You’re getting too cerebral.” 

“It’s physical too. It’s rooted in the body. I would never abandon the physical. I love getting physical.” 

He gave her a big cheesy smile-- one of her favorites. And she couldn’t stop herself from kissing him again for it.

They piled into Grog’s car, Pike pulling Scanlan into the front seat with her since they were both small enough to fit. She slid her hand into Scanlan’s and squeezed. She lined up to him shoulder to knee, and watched the wedding venue shrink in the rear view mirror. 

 

 

At The Circled Square, the rest of Kima and Allura’s friends filtered in for the sort-of-reception. A bunch of the people from Emon Towers, a few of Kima’s fellow intramural volleyball teammates and co-workers, and a handful of professors from the classics department at the University. As soon as they arrived Scanlan ushered his bartender friend on shift into the back and came out to the stage a few minutes later rolling out a karaoke machine. 

Vex bumped into Pike’s shoulder as they watched Scanlan plug in cords and futz with buttons on the machine. 

“I thought live performances were verboten,” she said. 

“Well, Kima said no live band. Or a DJ. She didn’t want a fuss.” 

“And karaoke isn’t a fuss?” 

“Karaoke is a loophole, I think.” 

Vex somehow frowned and laughed at the same time. “He doesn’t plan on trying to finagle a performance out of all of us, does he?” 

Pike bit her lip in consideration. “He may attempt that, yes,” Pike said, judiciously. 

The truth was yes, of course he was planning on roping everyone into karaoke.

He’d confessed his plans that morning when they were laying in bed. “ _Don’t Stop Believin’_ or a pop ballad of equivalent value. One group song at minimum. I swear to god I’ll divorce these losers otherwise.” 

“Well, if it comes down to it we can split custody of the twins,” Pike said poking at his collarbone a little. 

“Are you doubting my prowess to inspire a group of people to join in a rousing song?” 

“I’ve never seen you do that before.” 

“I inspire limitless amounts of people.” 

“With your prowess?” 

Scanlan smirked in self satisfaction. “You of all people know about my prowess. It worked on you.” 

“You better not prowess yourself too hard, then. There isn’t enough room in this bed for all our friends.” 

“I’ll go about 30% strength then.” 

Pike laughed and felt locked in time for second. The morning sunlight streaming through the shades brought out flashes of bronze and gold in his hair and his eyes. His smile was wolfish, but he also looked bright and playful.

The look of mischief on his face etched itself in her mind and stayed there all day. She couldn’t shake it for the life of her. 

There had been lots of moments in the past ten months where looking at him had been very nice, but in that moment there was more. More time in between his breaths and more feeling reaching the depths of his eyes and more desire to touch his skin. In that moment she felt more. She couldn’t remember if it was more than she’d ever felt about him, but it was strong and sudden enough that it might as well have been. Just a directionless need she couldn’t describe. 

She felt like she was trying to swim up from the bottom of a pool of honey. 

She’d thrown her arms around him again and pulled him down, breathing into his hair and letting him laugh against her chest, just to stop looking at his face because looking at his face had never been that nice before. 

The recollection was very present in her thoughts whenever she got herself closer in the direction of Allura and Kima’s wedding. That morning hadn’t been a special or particularly different thing. She may have seen that exact view of his face, framed by sunlight as he smiled, maybe dozens of times. 

For some reason, that time had been a big time. For some reason, that moment had been more momentous than the dozens before it. 

Pike caught Vex’s dubious look and said, “A little karaoke won’t kill you. You have a really nice voice, anyways.” 

Vex clicked her tongue. “You are so far gone.” 

Pike frowned. “No, you really do. You’re a wonderful singer.”

Vex shook her head, but smiled, hooking her arm around Pike’s. “Let’s get a drink.” 

Vex convinced her that they should both get an expensive theme drink called Carmen Miranda’s Hat, which was a tall margaria stuffed with glittery tassled stir sticks that tickled her nose, skewers of tropical fruit, and a yellow crazy straw shaped like a banana. With their extravagant fruity drinks they wouldn’t normally get during a normal night out on the town, they went back to their usual cluster of friends to wait for the guests of honor. Vax and Gilmore were listening politely to Tary and Percy talk about a project they were building and the complicated process of academic bureaucracy, while Grog gazed wistfully at the stage where Scanlan was too busy with the karaoke stand to save him. Vex stepped in between her boys while Pike took a piece of pineapple off her drink and gave it to Grog. 

He cheered up and ate it in one bite. “Hey, are you gonna sing a song with Scanlan?” 

Pike’s whole face heated up like someone had stuck a mic in her face that very second. “What? No. Why? What?” 

Grog shrugged. “Thought you might wanna. You talk about doing songs a lot.” 

“I don’t know--no. No. I don’t.” 

Vex leaned into their little circle with a very smirking smirk. “Well, you talk about _Scanlan’s_ performances quite a lot. And all the concerts you’ve gone to since you two started dating. I think Grog assumed you might like to join the stage with him.” Her eyes got very bright and evil. “Maybe a love song!” 

Pike could feel her soul leave her body for a brief second. 

Sometimes there was a little part of her that thought what it would be like to command attention on a stage, or to make people feel something just by opening her mouth and singing. The only time it had hurt a little was around the end of the year, when she’d gone to rehearsal for The Golden Grin’s New Year’s Eve show before dinner with Scanlan. He’d been singing a duet with one of the back up singers for their upcoming show. She was sitting on the piano he was playing and they were looking all romantically in each other’s faces, while Pike and Dranzel and everyone else in the band watched. It was like they were the only people in the world. 

Jealousy wasn’t something Pike was very familiar with, but she felt it then. And she couldn’t tell if it was because they looked like a perfect movie couple from a musical, or if it was because they were changing everyone around them from people to spectators with their talent. Or maybe just because he was working in sync so exactly with someone other than her. 

But there was a moment, as she watched their voices mingling, Pike had been completely small and envious and would’ve taken that girl’s voice in some kind of sea witch style magical voice contract if she could have. 

Thankfully, the sensation fled quickly. And sea witches can’t actually grant that kind of power.

Of course, in her right mind, on an even keel, Pike didn’t actually want countless pairs of eyes watching her, expecting something more than awkward, quiet squawking from her. Performing wasn’t her strong suit, or anything she wanted more than a fleeting curiosity. The only thing she needed to do, and felt right to do, was helping people who were hurt. _That_ was her calling, where she belonged and felt most capable. Not on a stage, or even adjacent to one.

And anyways, Scanlan looked at her all romantically all the time. He made music and poems for her that no one else ever got to hear, where there were no people or spectators, just them. She never once had to sing or do anything she didn’t want to get them either. 

“Um, no,” she recovered. “I don’t think so. I don’t want to sing. I just like hearing other people sing.” 

Vax grinned at her and elbowed her until she elbowed back. “I was hoping we were gonna get you and the Scan-man doing the end scene from _Grease_ for us.” 

Pike shook her head vehemently. 

“If you want to encourage us all to take part, it would be best to lead by example,” Percy added teasingly. 

“I’ll leave that to Scanlan, I think.” 

“Is it, like, mandatory?” Grog asked, looking back to where Scanlan appeared to be now turning on and testing several wireless microphones. 

“Over my dead body,” Percy said. 

Vex arched a perfect eyebrow. “He’s certainly going to try.” 

Grog turned to her. “What if you and me did, like, a rockin’ one? Like Bon Jovi or something? Like a work out jam.” 

Pike couldn’t stop herself from grinning. “Well, maybe I’d get on stage for that. I think I’d need a few more drinks first though.” 

It wasn’t long before Kiki and Kash arrived. Then Scanlan jumped off the stage--not a tall standard stage height or Pike would have to yell at him for forgetting about his knee-- complaining that Vex and Pike got fancy fruity drinks without him and insisting they take the banana straws home with them at the end of the night so he could have them for everyday use. He also took one of the frilled pink stirrers and broke the top off, sticking it into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. They introduced themselves to Kima and Allura’s coworkers and friends. Finally, Kima and Allura arrived, dressed in nice clothes, but out of their wedding gear and everyone cheered them. 

Scanlan didn’t immediately start in on the karaoke press gang, but he did carry around one of the mics with him everywhere, threateningly hanging from his hand or jacket pocket. Periodically through the night, Scanlan flipped between Scanlan the partygoer, hanging around Pike’s elbow sipping drinks and making jokes, and Scanlan the event coordinator, running between people and the stage, handing over cordless mics, and suggestions for songs. He teased Kima’s cop friends and coaxed Allura’s university friends. With a microphone in his hand he seemed more like an ambassador for entertainment than just some guy. The entire bar was not only theirs for the night and he even approached strangers like they had been invited to the party all along, and oh, certainly they were signing up for karaoke, right after this next song, wink, smile, laugh. 

Strong thudding urgent happiness re-emerged at the sight of his glad-handing, like it had been seeing the sun shine off his morning hair. Like it had seeing him stand in front of her before they left for the wedding, buttoning his little floral suit jacket in all watercolor shades of pink, purple, and blue. 

Honestly, it was embarrassing. He wasn’t even really _doing_ anything to elicit a response. Her heart jumped up to her throat nevertheless, trying to make itself known. 

She took a long sip of her drink and tried her best to ignore it. 

Scanlan’s first success was in getting some of the strangers on stage. They were a little drunker than their party seemed so Scanlan diplomatically directed them off stage quickly after their song was over to avoid incident. But they sang a fairly recognizable version of _Sweet Caroline_ and they appeared to have a good time. 

Grog, who didn’t really need a few drinks as an excuse to throw himself in the center of attention and didn’t like to be left out of ridiculous things, went up next. Together he and Scanlan sang a very energetic version of _Shout at the Devil_ , where the musicianship seemed less important than in most things Scanlan performed. But it was definitely fun to watch and fun to yell “SHOUT” back at them from the bar. 

Kima called him a nuisance when she first saw him karaoke hustling, but that didn’t stop her from taking to the stage 45 minutes later after Grog bought her a few shots, slightly drunkenly and emotionally belting out _Constant Craving_ by kd lang to Allura’s tearful delight. 

In the meantime, it took a few solo performances by Scanlan and an extra round of drinks or so to convince people to get up to the mic. It was something of a trick. Scanlan would get up on the stage, and often times jump back down, dancing between tables, goading people into singing the refrain with him. The excitement and giddiness spread and people would feel good about doing it themselves-- forgetting that they probably weren’t as good at singing or working a crowd as he was. But it went mostly in turns. 

Kima’s cop buddies sang _Mr. Blue Sky_. Scanlan performed a double with _Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy_ , which seemed so particularly on brand for him, and then he got the whole bar all riled up with the very interactive performance of _Mony Mony_. Pretty much everyone was reeled into the rhythmic hand clapping and chorus singing, even Percy, who seemed a bit annoyed by what he was doing, and Kash, who relented to Kiki’s upbeat prodding. But it seemed to work, because it got two of Allura’s professor friends to go up. Scanlan scampered off the stage to Pike, where he immediately rested his head on her shoulder and started to mooch off her drink. But that only lasted for half a minute, because the song the professors chose was _The Politics of Dancing_. Pike had never heard it before, but Scanlan’s eyes went very big and he begged her to get up and dance with him. 

During their sophomore year school formal, Pike had accidentally fallen on her then crush, Aubrey Caldman and had only danced in public since under two exceptions. The first was when she and Vex used to get drunk on Jell-O shots to fortify themselves and go to clubs.The second was, apparently, whenever Scanlan asked. 

Pike’s dances moves were very limited, but dancing with him never felt like it. Maybe surprisingly, he didn’t try to get too complicated or keep her dancing for very long. And he could talk to her and touch her while they were dancing in a way that made it seem as easy as walking. It could be fun, or silly, or quiet and sweet. And when she stepped in his way, or he moved slower than she thought, he laughed but not in any way like people had laughed at her when she’d fallen on Aubrey Caldman. 

And when he led her arm around for a spin she wasn’t expecting and sort of twirled right into him. He laughed and smiled. There were a thousand bright, happy lights in his eyes like stars. And he looked so cute with his pastel flowery jacket and pink bowtie and dark hair and dark eyes that she couldn’t even remember in that very second what other partners she’d ever had looked like. He fell into her on purpose, hugging her again before pulling a move designed to make her laugh. 

She could hear Vex’s voice from earlier, “You’re so far gone,” flashing in her head, and she just thought, _Oh_. 

There was another song after that Pike didn’t pay any attention to, but it was slow and they just sort of held on to each other while the music warbled indistinctly in the background. Everything slipped into the background when she let her forehead rest on his and they just seemed to move without speaking, following a pattern that didn’t need to be seen or spoken.

She and Scanlan sat down by their friends eventually, leaning against each other. People were talking but she couldn’t think past their feet, huddled next to each other. They were wearing their matching shoes--their couple shoes. They were shoes they always wound up wearing together. Scanlan’s blue suede oxfords and Pike’s sparkly blue ballet flats. 

She’d worn hers to go with the cocktail dress she got for the wedding--icy blue, strapless, with a fluffy tulle skirt spotted with a few silver sequins. Scanlan helped her pick it out. Well, he sat there with Vex outside dressing rooms and said every single one made her look like a movie star or a princess or a model. Scanlan didn’t often ask for opinions on clothes, his ideas always seemed firmly found even when the choices were less traditional. So he’d shown up weeks after picking out Pike’s dress with the exact suit jacket he wanted. Pink with blue and violet flowers densely patterned all over. 

Scanlan didn’t like blue all that much. It didn’t feature in his clothes often. He favored pink and red and purple and gold. And when she asked about it, he just shrugged and said, “we’ve got to wear our couple shoes,” like he’d never thought of not matching her. 

Pike kept looking at their shoes, biting the inside of her lip, thinking how strange it was that she very very badly wanted his stupid blue shoes in her closet next to hers forever. 

 

 

After Kima’s song, there were several songs in a row, mostly from Kima’s volleyball team, who found an array of 4 Non Blondes and Alanis Morissette to jam out to. The 90s flashback must have inspired something in Vex. She emptied the contents of her fluted glass and set it commandingly on the table in between them. 

“Alright, ladies. It’s Spice Girls o’clock.” 

Kiki’s eyes went wide in a state between excitement and alarm. “Oh, oh, we’re-- we’re doing a girls’ thing?” 

“Yes, we are. C’mon, let’s go. I’ll be Posh.” 

“Oh, oh! I wanna do this!” Scanlan said. 

“Yeah, Stubby,” Vax said. “You can’t exclude us from spice world.” 

Vex stopped herself mid eyeroll. “Of course you can sing with us, Scary Spice.” 

Scanlan turned to her and said casually, pulling Pike’s hand towards him to take another sip from her drink. “I don’t have the skin tone or eyebrows to be a redhead, but I personally feel like I have the leadership qualities and freewheeling sexuality of a Ginger. But I’m a better singer.”

“Pike, Kiki, boys,” Vex said, waving impatiently. “Let’s go.”

“Oh, I’m not sure--” 

But that was all Pike got out before Vex grabbed her hand and Pike rose from her seat as though her head wasn’t telling her to walk in the opposite direction. Scanlan popped up next to her, walking backward to face her. 

“You wanna sit it out?” He said quietly, looking from left to right like he was planning a strategic helicopter lift if she said yes. 

“Um, no. It’s okay. It’s fine. It’s not like I’m all by myself.” 

There was a brief flash of something warm and maybe a little close to those times they watched any shows about plucky single mothers that made him call Juniper right after. But he grabbed her hand and said, “No way, José.” 

It felt like an echo. 

A few days before the wedding, something unusual happened. 

Pike heard about a special training course on heart conditions she wanted to take. It would be two months worth of three hour classes every Thursday. In the past she would have just registered for it. But this time she didn’t even think about running it by Scanlan first. After all, some weeks Scanlan would be there for practice or rehearsal at the theater until late, and Pike would pick up Kaylie from school. 

It wasn’t until after she checked with him that she realized she was checking with him at all. 

Their lives were integrated now. They made space for each other and made plans for each other thoughtlessly. The best kind of thoughtless--by instinct. 

Walking up to the stage Pike felt a strange mix of tense and calm while Scanlan and Vex picked the song on the screen. On one hand, the overhead lights felt too much like spot lights and people were already looking up at them. On the other, Scanlan would back out with her if she really wanted him to. 

And then _Spice Up Your Life_ started playing. Time didn’t exactly go faster, but sort of didn’t exist except for the parts where she tried to keep up with the bad shimmying everyone else was doing during the chorus. 

Once she got off the stage Scanlan sidled up back to her again and said, “That wasn’t so bad?” 

Pike’s face wrinkled up, remembering the times she messed up words and accidentally bumped into Vax. She was just glad it was a group song and she, and everyone else, was half drunk. 

“It wasn’t as bad as the first time I went on stage,” Scanlan laughed and proceeded to regale her with a very likely exaggerated story about his voice cracking so much during a 8th grade performance of _Killing Me Softly_ so bad people thought he was doing a funny parody. 

She also doubted it was the first time he went on stage, and definitely not the first time he sang for people, but she still appreciated he was telling the story for her sake. 

 

 

A few more songs went passed, a few bar games were played.. Pike fetched drinks for herself and the newlyweds. She avoided accidentally getting slapped in the face by Tary’s hand when he was gesturing a story to Vax. She got pulled on stage one more time, but slightly looser and more confident because it was her and Grog yelling more than singing _We Will Rock You_. 

Pike was about to suggest thinking about going home to Scanlan, when casting her eyes around the room for him she saw him getting back on stage. His coat jacket was abandoned on a chair near her, but his blue suede shoes danced, albeit a little imprecisely, over to the karaoke machine. 

Scanlan held the mic a little too close to his mouth. “I got… one more song. I’ve got a lot of songs, really. It’s good, a demonstrably, unspeakably good thing to be full of songs. But you don’t always. Feel that way. I do lately. Effervescent. But I’m about to lose my voice, so I’ve got one more song on this night. For this night to celebrate a good marriage, good women, and good love.” 

There was a little nervous concern fluttering in Pike’s stomach. It wasn’t that concerning that he was obviously a little bit drunk--moreso that he was talking like he did at the end of a performance. Even more than that, that he might keep talking and drunkenly, adorably, but inappropriately talk about her. The idea that Scanlan might get up on a stage one day and proclaim his love for Pike, maybe at someone else’s wedding, had occurred to her in the past. Scanlan was very affectionate--to her-- and unpredictable and liked proclaiming things. 

Pike wasn’t so reserved that she couldn’t admit she liked being praised, but she didn’t like the attention or being fussed over or taking any spotlight. 

He didn’t say anything more. Well, not about her. He made an abrupt serious face and said, “This is a very serious song about love.” Which was good. He didn’t need to say in front of friends and strangers how much he loved her. She already knew. 

And she already knew the song and everything he said was for her. 

“ _I thought love was only true in fairy tales, meant for someone else but not for me._ ”

Of course when everyone realized what serious song he was singing, everyone laughed. Including Pike, but she also felt a tight giddy feeling in her chest. She’d seen him on stage so many times at that point, and she knew it was hard to tell where exactly he was looking, but she always felt a little flush when she thought he was looking at her. 

“ _Then I saw her face, yeah. No doubt in my mind_.” 

It was strange. During the song Scanlan got really animated, eliciting many _yeah, yeah, yeahs_ from the bar, and lept from the stage to weave through the crowd to get our friends to sing and dance around with him. It was a gospel rendition almost, everyone waving their hands up in the air and following his lead.

Something settled inside her when finished the song, hands raised in triumph. It was like she’d been vibrating all day and finally stopped.Her bones anchored her body again. Her thoughts became clear. Her eyes widened. And she finally knew what the hazy want she’d been feeling all day was, and why she’d been trying to shoo it away. 

When Scanlan walked back to her with a big self-satisfied, cheesy grin on his face, she pulled him quickly to her side, and kissed his cheek. 

“I don’t understand how you can get people so invested in such a mediocre song. I mean… The song from Shrek?” Percy said, almost like he was wondering aloud. 

Scanlan just grinned even more smugly, made finger guns at Percy without unlocking one elbow from Pike’s arm, and said, “Confidence.” 

But Pike knew the real secret. She’d wondered as much before. Scanlan could ingratiate himself to a crowd of people in a way that felt like electricity in the air. He was a good musician, but as she’d gotten to learn music better and go to more shows, she thought it was clear he was a much better performer. Or at least, had the magic touch that got people to engage instead of just hear the music. 

And Scanlan had confessed once what it really was. Confidence wasn’t just it. 

“You’ve got to believe everything. Even for a few minutes,” Scanlan said, two hours after one performance The Golden Grin had done in April. They were waiting up together while the adrenalin still pumped through his body. She could feel his pulse, still elevated, next to her ear as they sat smushed together on the couch, with her head on his shoulder not really watching _Iron Chef_. “You’ve got to convince them, not just wow them. That’s why it’s so hard to be good when you’re not in yourself, when you hate yourself. Believing, even for a few minutes, can be hard. Some things are easier to convince than others. But that’s what wins people, showing them somehow that you believe it, so they can believe it.” 

That’s what did it. She’d seen it in his eyes when he’d confessed and confessed how he was a believer. 

It was still in his eyes standing next to her. 

 

 

The rest of the night dragged on. It was pleasant, but she wanted to leave. 

No one stepped up to the karaoke machine after Scanlan--it had been going for a while anyway-- and whatever the bar’s usual radio setlist returned. A few more people outside our group drifted in-- about as many that had left throughout the night when they saw the karaoke set up. As soon as Kima and Allura started angling for door to officially begin their honeymoon, and more well wishes were given, Pike yawned very noticeably. Several times. 

Grog was their ride and it only took a minimal amount of prodding to get him to agree to turn in for the evening. 

They piled into the backseat together. Scanlan folded up his suit jacket, put it behind their heads, and curled into her side with a dramatic overtired yawn.

He wasn’t really bigger than her but he was somehow everywhere around her, resting his head on her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her middle. He wasn’t quite trying to pull her on his lap but there was really no other way to get any closer. There were times when he was touching it seemed like he was trying to touch every inch of her skin at once. 

Knowing that made her feel a bit drunk, a bit powerful. She snaked her arm around him and squeezed back.

There was soft humming in her ear and on her cheek. Even his humming usually had a professional fluency to it, but she could hear the fry in it from his many bouts of singing. 

Her life now was filled with music notes in every sound, words that lifted into a melody, rhyming and cadence were more noticeable when they were gone, and moments that refused to fall on deaf ears. It was a remarkable difference because it was one she felt all the time. So many things change without thought or notice, but the music wasn’t one. 

She pressed her cheek against his. 

She could hear his breathing, and feel the little movements inside his throat. Moments like this, she felt, were more intimate sometimes than sex or deep personal discussions--knowing and feeling someone beneath their skin, just existing in time with you. 

She reached an arm around his shoulders, pressing her hand to his ribcage, where is heart beat with his humming. 

At times, holding his heart in her hands was terrifying. 

But mostly it made her feel good. Like she was good, good things would come from it, and the right person to be holding it. 

The ambling confines of Grog’s truck were suddenly very jarring and very confining. 

When Grog pulled into the combined parking lot for the Emon Towers buildings, Scanlan reached across Pike and knocked on the side window. 

“Pull up right to the door, driver. I don’t want to walk all the way from your parking spot.” 

“If you call me driver again, I’m gonna kick your scrawny ass.” 

“Hey,” Scanlan whined. “Unfair advantage. I’m a lightweight. You’re a heavyweight.”

Grog nodded sagely. “Actually, you’re more like a bantamweight.” 

They were too close still to look at each other, but Scanlan’s face inclined towards Pike’s ear. “Is that… good?” 

“It means you’re too skinny to be a lightweight.” 

“It’s a lower weight class than featherweight,” Grog added with a grin. 

Over Scanlan’s offended scoff, Pike said, “Just stop in front of 300.” 

Grog’s flat grimace caught her eye in the rearview mirror, but he didn’t say anything other than a very quiet, “gross” to Pike’s laughter. 

There was a lot going through Pike’s head as they went up to Scanlan’s apartment. Like how she kept catching herself touch Scanlan’s shoulders and hands and hair as they navigated through the apartment; she normally wasn’t so touchy. And there were always a few Granny Smith apples in the bowl of fruit on his kitchen counter; Pike’s favorite fruit. And how the framed picture of Scanlan, Pike, and Kaylie in front of the Art Institute’s golden lion statue was sitting on top of Scanlan’s piano; angled towards where he sat to write sheet music. 

How despite a number of her outfits hung in his closet and were stuffed into his dresser-- and how many of his lived at her place now, and how they owned duplicates of hair products and lotion and toothbrushes-- it was still inconvenient to drag their lives from apartment to apartment. 

The short distance of the apartment lawn had spread a lot wider in the past few months. 

Scanlan kicked off his blue suede shoes near the foot of the bed and left the room to brush his teeth. Pike took off her own blue shoes and put them next to his, straightening them in a row. 

On the left bedside table, the side that had been determined to be Scanlan’s side, there was a few scribbled lines on a pad of paper that said “Scratch Pad” at the top, next to a line drawing of someone scratching their butt. Pike didn’t like to pry into his writing, but it was just lying there. 

In Scanlan’s very familiar handwriting it read:

>   
>  _~~atomic frequency  
>  your chemicals brush my chemicals it’s what makes breathe again~~ _
> 
> Put your body on my body  
>  skin to skin  
>  hand in hand  
>  Put your body on my body  
>  my skin wants to talk to yours  
>  my hand needs to reach to yours 
> 
> _It’s a touching story-- a skin talk where we’re warm and sweaty and salty and humming with the contractions of skin  
>  like crickets ~~^if I could be honest/an honest communication I wish I could~~_
> 
> _Our shins and knees slide against each other-- good night_  
>  the arch of your foot in my hand-- will you let me worship you?  
>  where our thighs meet-- closer come closer be close so close I’ll never feel you leave  
>  When we align our bones at each place and feel chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat, and our lungs push against each other-- Stay Forever 
> 
> __~~When you’re not there-- do the vibrations carry?~~  
>  Does this denouement I don’t deserve make room in your heart? I wonder I worry  
>  Does my touch sing to you?  
> 

__

__

Pike took a deep breath and held the notepad tightly in her hands. 

The Song. The Continual Poem About Her, more like. She’d never read any of the other drafts he’d claimed to have written before, but there was a ridge of wax on the top where many sheets had been pulled off. She wondered where the other drafts were. The thought of them crumpled in the garbage made her a little nauseous. 

She could feel the notepad sticking to her clammy palms. It wasn’t exactly what she expected to read, but none of it really surprised her either. And now that she had realized what she wanted and what she needed to do, the butterflies in her stomach were tying themselves into knots. 

Scanlan walked back into the room with two glasses of water, his pink bowtie was undone, still hanging under his now unbuttoned collar, he stopped at the sight of her sitting on the edge of the bed, now fanning herself with the butt notepad. 

Which he probably instantly knew he’d written very emotional things on, as well as unpolished by further drafts. 

“Aaaauuuuummm,” he said in a quiet croak. “That’s just…”

“It’s beautiful.” 

He sort of squirmed in place, not looking away from her but looking a little flushed. “It’s not done.” 

“It’s still beautiful.”

His skin tone was tan enough, and his disposition shameless enough, that it was hard to catch a blush, but Pike always squirreled images of the times she caused one. 

Pike put the notepad back on the nightstand and made grabby hands at him to cut down on the time he’d spend standing away from her, worrying about showing his hand too much or too little, or the many emotions he was afraid of. He put the glasses on the nightstand and sat next to her, not as close as in Grog’s truck. 

Pike held his hand and looked at that instead of his face. It was easier to talk that way. Of course she still had a few false starts, and went through so many opening lines in her head that Scanlan started to get tense beside her. 

“Are you… Is everything okay?” 

She swallowed nervously. “I guess what I wanted to say is that, well, I’ve been mulling over a lot of things lately. And I’ve been sort of confused lately, and I realized the solution today. And it’s really very simple.” 

Against her initial plan, she looked up at him. She couldn’t really help it. His eyebrows looked like they were fighting confusion. Scanlan generally looked like he was fighting an impulse at any given moment, so there was a shade of sadness and a shade of mania in his eyes, but almost hidden. His mouth was slightly open, like he was waiting to make his case for something. The result was something that, by every measure, inappropriately silly.

And it only made her more sure she wanted to see his dumb face for the rest of her life. 

“I want my whole life in one place. You mean so much, I… I don’t have the gift to explain myself as well as you do. And I didn’t plan this out. Maybe I should have. It wouldn’t have hurt to wait, like, a day to write it down, I guess. That’s not the point,” she corrected, seeing his eyes start to slip more into confused and afraid. 

“What I mean is you do!” She said, motioning to the unanswered question on the notepad. “Sing to me. In every way. I can’t, um, imagine my life without you. I don’t want your apartment with my stuff in it, or yours at mine. I want ours together. I want a place for you in my life. I want a house with our room, and a room for Kaylie, and a room for Grog. I want us to have a home. And one day, I want to marry you.” 

It was terrifying to have it out in the air. Scanlan was wide-eyed and frozen. 

“If that’s what you want,” Pike added quickly. “And not now, necessarily. Just, that’s what I want and I wanted to say that.” 

Scanlan nodded silently. His hand was gripping hers pretty hard now. 

“Is that? What you want? Because I know in the past you’ve… enjoyed your freedom. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want.” 

“No,” he blurted, and then shook his head. “I mean, no to the freedom. I mean.” He sighed heavily and took a second to focus. His eyes came back to her with certainty. “Being with you has been a kind of freedom I’ve never had before. The freedom to be honest with you, to know myself and to know you. I don’t need anything from before, so don’t… I need to be with you.” 

Pike nodded, warmth starting to soften her chest and dispel all the knots and butterflies from earlier. “So… will you marry me? One day? In the future, but for now just be engaged for a while and find a place to move in tog--” 

“God, yes,” Scanlan said. 

Pike smiled. Until a thought came to her. “We didn’t get rings! I should’ve got you a ring!” 

“We can do that later.” Scanlan laughed and moved in to kiss her. 

It was nice. And exactly what she wanted to do. They worked through unbuttoning all of Scanlan’s shirt buttons and wiggling Pike out of her tights through various kisses and nibbles and gropes. But Pike pulled away again. 

“I’m really happy, but I feel like I did this wrong.” 

“What?” He said, already fully distracted.

“I don’t know. Since it’s you, I feel like I should’ve proposed at a concert. Ooh, like maybe when you were on stage. And I’d rush up like a deranged fan, but it’s me, and then propose with a diamond-studded yet masculine ring?” 

Scanlan bit his lip, looking like he really wanted to say that was a terrible idea. But he shook his head. “This is perfect. Just you. Just us.” 

“I want to tell everyone.” Pike surprised herself with her own adamance. She kind of felt like knocking on everyone’s doors in the complex just to inform them of the news. 

“Um, just to get a lay of the land, like right now?” He looked down ruefully at his hand that had not budged from Pike’s thigh and her layers of tulle fluffed up around her hips. 

She let her hand drift from Scanlan’s chest hair down his belly to his belt and unbuckled it. “Well, I guess I see your point.” 

 

 

In the morning, after coffee, a short trip to Uncle Wilhand’s to share the news over breakfast, and then to Juniper’s to share it again, Scanlan and Pike returned to Emon Towers with all the cupcakes they could buy at The Dough Always Rises and several armfuls of flowers. They put together a little moving trolley to hold everything with a wheeled traveling amp case of Scanlan’s.

Armed with their baked goods to apologize, flowers to celebrate, and Scanlan’s guitar, Pike and Scanlan went on an intimate singing and walking tour of Emon Towers to spread the news, starting first right outside Grog’s bedroom door. 

Pike took a picture of everyone’s confused, slightly annoyed face as the rest of their friends, and then neighbors, and also a few strangers when they walked through the park, took in the engagement news with cupcakes and flowers. Pike had goals for those pictures whenever they got around to wedding invitations, whenever they got around to deciding when they would get married. She may have been thinking too far ahead of herself, but failing that, it couldn’t hurt to have pictures of her friends making weird faces anyway. 

When Pike thought they had sufficiently notified their apartment complex of the engagement and gotten rid of most of the cupcakes, they wandered back to the apartment. 

There was so much to do. Little things like having dinner with Grog. Bigger things like talking to Kaylie about this and looking for a new place to live. And there was so much more packed in and behind and around those things. She was overfilled with thoughts and distracted and it must have shown.

When they were carting their remaining flowers back across the common lawn, Scanlan started strumming again. A familiar song on a mix he’d made for her after they’d been dating for six months. Neither of them were month-iversary people but he’d still done it in part to mark how much he appreciated her in his life. And it had since become one of her favorite songs. 

And when he changed key into _The Book of Love_ , Pike’s thoughts slowed down. 

All of the things they needed to do were still there, of course, but it reminded her she wasn’t going to do them alone. And though there was a lot, they’d have a long time to do them. As Scanlan might’ve put it, their story was still in the first act. 

He was very nearly done with the song, on the last refrain, but Pike just couldn’t contain it to herself one second longer. 

“ _... yo-o-o-ou outta give me wedding rings, and I-I-I love it when you give me--_ ”

She cut him off with a kiss and the strange quieting twang of her body muffling the guitar. He looked a little gobsmacked when she leaned back. 

“What was that for?” He said. 

“I love you is all.” 

There was no other reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End
> 
>  
> 
> ~*~
> 
> I'm pretending not to cry right now, so let's just plow through my final notes on this story. 
> 
> Thanks thank you thank you so much to tameila for writing [one of the fics that inspired this story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10013741/chapters/22323065) as well as the bakery The Dough Always Rises, for writing the [chapter 10 deleted scene to this story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12552964), for being my beta, for being the only person whose lust for pikelan matches mine own, and just being a beautiful, vivacious, amazing person in general. Your many virtues are uncountable, my sweet baked alaska. 
> 
> Thanks again to all you readers and commenters for making writing this such a singular experience. Everything I said in beginning notes still stands. I love you all so much. <3
> 
> And as a side note, now that this is finished, if you like it a lot, you may want to download the pdf. I might be trying to write a more involved fantasy version of this story with my own, altered original characters, but based off the work I did here. So I might delete this fic in the future?? I'm still working on it. 
> 
> And as always, the songs of note:  
> \- [The Marriage of Figaro](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mp6UAGN_Ir4) \- Mozart  
> \- [Canon in D](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wOeK3I8h6jY) \- Pachelbel  
> \- [Shout at the Devil](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c3lrsHPfOu8) by Motley Cru  
> \- [Constant Craving](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9pBYKVESAyk) by kd lang  
> \- [The Politics of Dancing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eabefjsJsAQ) by a band I'm forgetting the name of but really this is a total banger I love it so much and that's the only reason I included it  
> \- [Mony, Mony](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pkMgs3lFwkQ) by Tommy James and the Shondells, played at every wedding reception and covered again every decade for a reason, an absolute bop  
> \- [Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iNuN6k8GE1c) by Queen, a song about Scanlan  
> \- [Spice Up Your Life](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MPqMf6WvbmM) by The Spice Girls  
> \- [I'm A Believer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=udX6y-FB3vU) by The Monkees, a song about Scanlan for Pike  
> \- [The Book of Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jkjXr9SrzQE) performed by Magnetic Fields, thanks again to Sam Riegel for putting this on his last playlist for Scanlan. If it had come into my head at the time, this song would be the title for this story. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading. Muah <3\. See you next Thursday.


End file.
